Before the Dawn
by snarkyroxy
Summary: In her seventh year, a latenight discovery changes Hermione Granger's view on a great many things. Severus Snape is just one of them. Complete.
1. Realisation

** Before the Dawn **

**by snarkyroxy**

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.  
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**Chapter One**

The corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were silent and cold as Hermione Granger stopped to examine a portrait she had never seen before. After nearly seven years at the school, and many more explorations of its infinite corridors than most of her classmates, she never ceased to be surprised how little she knew of the place.

After three months as Head Girl, her nightly patrols were still leading her to parts of the school she had never seen before. Only a few nights ago, she has discovered a small room with a floor-to-ceiling window of stained glass which would humble the most beautiful Muggle cathedrals. She had stared at the window for a good hour, making out the shapes and lines in the semi-darkness. The window depicted the creation of the school, and the subsequent breaking of the friendship between Salazar Slytherin and the three other founders.

The intricate detail of the window was astounding, even at night, and she resolved to come back the next day to see the window in all its glory, backlit by the afternoon sun. She was dismayed to find, upon looking for the room during lunch the next day, not only the room but the entire corridor seemed to have vanished. The statue of Marcus the Merciful, who had previously marked the way to the room, was scowling out at her from a solid wall of stone.

She sighed and yawned, making her way down to the Entrance Hall for a last look around before she headed up to Gryffindor Tower. She hadn't stumbled across any students out after curfew that night, and she wasn't surprised. Even though it was only mid-November, winter had come early and the castle was almost as icy as the windswept grounds. She rubbed her hands together as the huge clock in the Entrance Hall began to chime eleven o'clock.

Suddenly, the main doors flew open and she was hit by a blast of freezing wind. As her hair whipped about her face in the sudden draught, she saw a figure clad in black from head to toe stagger into the hall and slam the doors closed behind them.

The sudden silence after the noise of the wind was eerie, and as the figure lowered the hood of his cloak, she instantly recognised him.

"Professor Snape!" she gasped.

He looked up, startled by her presence, and his eyes flashed annoyance as he brushed the snow and ice from his outer robes.

"Miss Granger," he said stiffly. "What are you doing wandering the school at this time of night?"

"I was just finishing my patrol," she said, squashing her desire to repeat his question back to him.

"Then finish it," he snapped, and raised a hand to push his dark hair back from his face. _A shaking hand_. Hermione stared and realised not just his hands, but his whole body was shaking. Looking more carefully at her teacher's face, she noticed a sheen of sweat across his forehead.

"Sir, are you okay?" she asked.

"Ten points from Gryffindor. I thought I just told you to be on your way," he said softly. Hermione had been in his classes long enough to know that the quieter his voice got, the angrier he was, but she wasn't put off this time. Something wasn't right. She took a step towards him.

"You're shaking, sir," she said.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he bellowed. "And if I have to tell you to mind your own business again it will be fifty!"

Without waiting for a response, he turned and swept down the stairs which led to the Slytherin dungeons.

Hermione stood silently for a moment before making her way up to bed.

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The following morning, Hermione went down to breakfast with Harry and Ron, not mentioning anything of what she had witnessed the previous night. She glanced up to the staff table and saw Professor Snape sitting silently at one end, staring out across the Hall. Their eyes met for an instant, but a sudden flutter of wings distracted her as the morning post arrived. A large tawny owl dropped a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in her lap, and she gasped as she unfolded it. 

A black and white moving photograph showed the Dark Mark hovering in the sky over the ruins of what might once have been a building. The headline above the photograph read 'DEATH EATER ATTACK: MUGGLE-BORNS MURDERED'.

All across the Great Hall, noises of dismay were echoing as the students subscribed to the paper showed their classmates the unpleasant news. Harry and Ron, sitting on either side of her, leant across to read the article with her. Death Eaters had attacked a family from Kettering with Muggle-born children just after dinner the previous night.

"Bloody hell," said Ron. "They didn't even spare the kids."

Hermione felt tears come into her eyes as she read the statement from a Ministry official describing the bodies they pulled from the wreckage of the house. The mother and father were confirmed dead and, although yet to be identified, the other bodies were doubtlessly the couple's three children, aged four, six and nine.

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand gently, and she felt a lone tear escape her eyes and trickle down her face. She looked around the room at the faces of her classmates. The students Hermione knew to be Muggle-born were looking frightened, while others were trying to feign indifference and failing miserably. Only a handful of students at the Slytherin table were looking truly calm.

The mood was much the same at the staff table. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking in low voices, heads together, while most of the other teachers were reading their own copies of Prophet, shaking their heads sadly.

Hermione's gaze drifted to the end of the table, where Professor Snape was still sitting quietly. He seemed neither surprised nor disturbed by the news, and was surveying the Great Hall with an unreadable expression.

As his eyes met hers again, the sudden realization hit.

She'd learnt in the summer after her fourth year that Snape had returned to Voldemort, posing as a Death Eater while spying for the Order. Until that moment, however, she had never given more than a passing thought as to what his duties might entail.

"Oh, God," she exclaimed aloud, her eyes widening in horror.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Harry asked, as he and Ron both turned to her, concerned.

Snape continued to hold her gaze, and her sudden revelation was not lost on him. As she stared at him, she could have sworn he shook his head. The gesture was almost imperceptible, but the meaning was clear.

"Hermione!" Ron's imperative voice jolted her out of her stupor and she finally tore her gaze from the Potions Master.

"Are you okay?" her friend asked again.

"I- I- um- nothing... it's... never mind," she finally managed to choke out, standing up. "I have to do something, I'll see you in class."

She walked quickly from the Great Hall, leaving her two friends staring at each other in confusion.

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Hermione paced back and forth across her room, lost in thought. She had fifteen minutes before the first class of the day, which just happened to be Potions. She wasn't sure she could walk into that classroom and meet her Professor's eyes after the conclusions she had reached. 

He had obviously been to a Death Eater gathering last night, but what had he been doing? The Prophet reported only five or six Death Eaters were seen in the vicinity of the attack. Had he been one of them?

She shuddered at the thought.

Maybe he hadn't been there. Maybe he hadn't known anything about it.

_But then_, said a small voice inside her head, _why was he so agitated last night?_

The shaking hands on the normally composed man were enough for her to suspect he had seen – _or done_ - something terrible that night.

_Get a grip, Granger_, she chided herself. _Control that overactive imagination and don't jump to ridiculous conclusions._ Gathering her thoughts, she collected her books and made her way down to the dungeon classroom, meeting Harry on the way. Ron had given up Potions this year to concentrate on Quidditch, which he hoped to play professionally in the future. Being made captain of the team had worked wonders for his confidence, and the games Gryffindor weren't strong enough to win on skill, they most often won on strategy anyway.

If Harry had found her behaviour at breakfast strange, he didn't say anything, and took their seats in silence.

The door to the classroom banged open forcefully as Snape strode into the room. Watching him interestedly, Hermione saw no sign of the previous night's afflictions as he turned to the class, sneer fixed firmly on his face.

"Today you will be brewing a Blood Replenishing Potion," he said. "Can anyone tell me the dangers associated with the consumption of this draught?"

Hermione kept her head down, desperately hoping at least one other student in the class had done more than skim-read the textbook.

"Miss Granger," he drawled. She looked up finally to see him standing in front of her desk. "Don't tell me our resident know-it-all hasn't done her reading? How disappointing."

She lowered her eyes to the desk again, not trusting her voice, even though she knew perfectly well what the answer was.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he sneered, making his way back to the front of the classroom. "If you cannot manage your studies with your Head Girl duties, you do not deserve the position."

With that scathing remark, he flicked his wand at the board where instructions for the potion appeared.

"You have two hours."

With that, Snape sat behind his desk and stayed there for the entire lesson, marking essays, not bothering even to stalk between the desks to make snide comments about the quality of the students' work. When Neville melted his cauldron after adding armadillo bile instead of hellebore, he simply raised an eyebrow and bit out icily, "Clean up your mess and excuse yourself from my presence, Longbottom."

At the end of the lesson, Hermione was still fuming over his insinuation about her worthiness as Head Girl. She set her flask on Snape's desk with the rest of the students and made to follow her friends to the next lesson.

"Miss Granger."

_Damn_, she cursed mentally. After his cutting remark at the beginning of class, she had managed the entire double lesson without meeting his eyes once. She had hoped that would be sign enough she didn't want to discuss the previous night with him. She nodded to Harry to continue on without her and turned back into the Potions classroom. 

He remained seated at his desk and gestured for her to sit across from him, closing the classroom door with a wave of his wand.

"I am unaccustomed to having to answer to students," he said with a sneer, "but in these circumstances I feel the truth would be preferable to the speculation and conjecture undoubtedly running through that head of yours."

She straightened haughtily in her chair and fixed her best imitation of his own sneer on her face.

"Don't feel you owe me any explanation, _sir_," she spat. "Your _extracurricular_ activities are no more concern to me than mine should be yours. As for my speculation, I don't imagine it would be far from the truth."

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he said stiffly. "Do not use that tone of voice with me."

She didn't apologise, but merely held his gaze and waited for him to continue. He stood and paced behind desk, folding his arms across his chest, before thinking better of it and clenching his fists at his sides instead.

_Is he nervous?_ Hermione thought. The uncharacteristic behaviour caused her to relent her harsh tone.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said. "You don't owe me anything and you shouldn't have to explain yourself to me."

He raised his head and looked at her curiously, the hint of a smirk on his face.

"I see you are more sensible than your famous friend," he sneered. "If he had deduced half as much as you he would be down here demanding a full Pensieve recount."

Hermione ignored the slight on Harry, well aware Snape had never forgiven him for looking into his Pensieve over two years ago. If she had such memories, she doubted she would have been very forgiving either.

"I haven't told anyone, sir," she said. "Nor do I plan to."

He nodded.

"Your discretion is... appreciated," he said quietly, standing up. "If you are capable of keeping this information to yourself, I don't believe any further explanation is necessary."

She remained seated.

"Just one thing, sir," she said hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow and sat behind his desk again.

"I know a little of what you have to do for the Order, sir," she began, trying to keep her voice calm and level. "I also know some of the terrible things Death Eaters do, and whether they do them willingly or otherwise, it doesn't make it any easier to deal with."

She took a deep breath, glad his gaze seemed to be fixed on the surface of the desk. If the truth was known, this Death Eater attack had affected her worse than others she had heard rumour of through Harry and the Order. This was the first one to make front-page news, which made it all the more real. And the reality of it was, that family was no different from her own.

"Ten years ago, my family was just like the family who died last night," she said. "I showed signs of magic very early, but my parents didn't recognise it for what it was. And to slaughter a whole family because the children are something they neither understand nor chose to be..."

She broke off, her voice catching in her throat.

"This attack has hit a little too close to home for me, and to know that it could have been prevented... I... just tell me you weren't in Kettering last night, sir."

_There. I've said it._ She sat back and waited for the storm.

But it never came.

"I said I would give you the truth, Miss Granger," he said slowly. "So I am afraid that statement is not in the realm of possibility."

She stared at him, or rather, at the top of his head. She remembered his nonchalant expression at breakfast. His shaking hands the previous night.

It wasn't just her over-active mind making up horrible fictions from mere scraps of information.

He had been there. He had seen it all. He knew what had happened, and he had done nothing to stop it.

"God," she whispered.

He let out a harsh, unpleasant laugh. She looked up, startled.

"That Muggle excuse for a saviour has no place here, Miss Granger," he scorned. "There are things in this world far fouler than any one being could even comprehend, let alone create."

She stared at him for a moment, in horror, in realisation, and he met her gaze evenly.

"Yes," he said cruelly. "I was there. I knew about it an hour before it happened and I did nothing to save them. I didn't cast a Killing Curse, but I stood by and watched as others did."

She felt sick. Her chair toppled and hit the floor as she stood abruptly and made for the door. He was faster, though, and she had only opened it a fraction when he slammed his hand into the wood above her head, keeping it closed.

"Let me out," she said stubbornly, still facing the door.

"Look at me, Miss Granger," he commanded.

She sighed and turned to face him. His hand was over her shoulder, still holding the door closed.

"I did what I had to do," he hissed, so close to her face she could see herself reflected in his fathomless black eyes, "as we all do in these times. Most of it is unpleasant and _none_ of it is easy, but I do what little I can, and in this war _everything_ counts, no matter how insignificant."

She nodded, averting her eyes.

She felt him staring at her for a moment, until he realised that was the only response he would receive. Sighing, he removed his hand from the door and stepped back.

She fled the dungeons as fast as she could manage, not even stopping to take points from a pair of students trying to hex each other in the main corridor.

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**To be continued**

_Comments are always appreciated._


	2. Answers

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter Two**

For the next few days, Hermione was walking around in somewhat of a daze. Her conversation with the Potions professor played over and over in her mind, until she thought she would go mad. The fact that he had been truthful with her, and all but admitted to participating in the Dark Lord's gruesome work, had done little to alleviate her concerns.

The logical side of her brain was trying to explain away his presence at the raids, but every time she managed to convince herself, a little voice in her head would think up yet another contradiction.

_He was only there to maintain his cover. He wouldn't have hurt anyone. He works for the Order... but to maintain his cover, he would have to do anything Voldemort commanded of him._ Anything. _Without hesitation._

Harry and Ron had spent much of their fifth and sixth year speculating on whether Snape really was on their side, or just biding his time to see who won the war. Hermione had spent just as much time defending their teacher, but now… she didn't know what to think.

A nagging thought in the back of her head kept reminding her that once, as a real Death Eater, he had probably tortured or killed Muggle-borns like her. Not because he _had_ to, but because he _wanted_ to.

How could she, or anyone for that matter, be sure he wasn't just playing up his role as a spy to indulge his long-repressed needs?

Educating the current generation by day, killing the next generation by night. There was certainly a Jekyll-and-Hyde-like quality to the theory.

On Thursday evening, Hermione went to the Headmaster's office to give her Head Girl report, determined to put her fears to rest. She had spent the last four days trying to study, but mostly ended up staring unseeing at the textbooks, quill in hand, blank parchment in front of her, going over scenario after scenario in her head.

She had planned out three different conversations with the Potions master, should he call on her to discuss the events earlier in the week further.

He didn't.

She thought about asking Professor McGonagall what she knew of Snape's spying work, but her Head of House would want to know why she was asking such questions. She was still trying to justify Snape's alleged actions to herself, let alone explain them to anyone else, so that option was out.

She thought about asking Harry to talk to Remus Lupin, who was not only a member of the Order, but in touch with Snape more often than anyone else due to the Wolfsbane Potion that Snape made for him every month. Again, though, Harry would want to know why she was asking questions.

Also, she had told Snape she wouldn't speak of what she knew to anyone. Hermione didn't take promises lightly, and wished she hadn't made such a generalised statement. Maybe she could talk to the Headmaster. He was already aware of Snape's actions, so she wouldn't be betraying a confidence, as such.

"Canary Cream," she stated to the gargoyle, which immediately sprang aside. Upon her first visit to the circular office as Head Girl that year, she had been highly amused to find the Headmaster had develop a liking for the Weasley twins' creations. She had also made a mental note not to accept any food whilst in his office, harmless-looking or not.

"Miss Granger, come in," the Headmaster said, standing from behind his desk.

The Headmaster gestured her to sit in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, taking the other seat himself and magiking a silver tea service onto the table between them.

"White with two?" he asked.

She nodded.

They spent the better part of an hour discussing the usual matters relating to her Head Girl duties, and in particular her responsibilities to control the festivities should Gryffindor win the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. When they reached the end of their conversation, they both sat in silence for a few moments, before the Headmaster, insightful as always, sensed there was something else she wanted to say.

"Is there anything else you wish to talk about, Hermione? Anything at all?"

She hesitated. Although she had made up her mind about consulting the Headmaster, she had given little thought to what she would actually say.

"I, uh..." she faltered. He was watching her carefully, so she took a deep breath and continued. "I wanted to talk to you about Professor Snape, sir."

"Ah." The Headmaster regarded her with an appraising look and clasped his hands together under his chin. "We had a feeling you might."

She looked up sharply at his choice of words. "We?"

"Professor Snape and I," Dumbledore clarified. "He came to see me regarding your encounter on Monday night, and subsequent conversation after your Potions class. He was... concerned you may take your fears to the wrong person."

_Harry and Ron_, she thought, feeling incensed. Aloud, she said, "I told him I wouldn't speak of it to anyone. I would have though he respected me enough to trust a promise."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I'm afraid Severus has little cause to trust anyone these days."

The Headmaster stood and began walking slowly around the outer wall of the room. He stopped here and there to look at or touch something; a Sneakoscope lying dormant on a table, a shelf of books which purred as he ran his index finger over the spines, a silver dagger with an intricate design of ancient runes along the hilt.

He reached a large stone basin on a small shelf behind his desk, and Hermione watched as he withdrew his wand and began to place silvery strands into the Pensieve. He began speaking softly as he collected his thoughts, and at first Hermione thought he was casting a spell. As she strained to listen, though, catching a mixture of plain words, spells and other languages, she realised he was merely rambling. Mumbling bits of thoughts and memories, as an old man whose wits go wandering through the years and spells will.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there in silence, watching thought after thought stream into the ancient stone bowl. She didn't like to disturb the Headmaster in his reverie, but was he even aware she was still in his office?

Her question was answered a moment later as he turned from his Pensieve and sat opposite her again.

"Sherbet lemon?" he offered, holding out a bowl filled with the yellow lollies.

She shook her head politely, watching him expectantly as he unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth.

"I apologise for my momentary lapse, Miss Granger," he said gravely. "I needed to think a moment on the implications of what I am about to tell you."

"Tell me what you know of Professor Snape's past, Miss Granger."

Frowning slightly, she outlined all she knew, both from Harry and members of the Order. It wasn't a lot. She told Dumbledore she knew Snape had been a Death Eater by choice, and had changed sides before the first downfall of Voldemort, and that he was now in contact with the Death Eaters again, using the pretence of a loyal follower to gather information for the Order.

"What do you know of his reasons for changing sides?" the Headmaster asked, gazing at her keenly.

She returned his gaze curiously. Harry had told her time and time again Dumbledore refused to speak of his reasons for trusting Snape so implicitly. Harry had tried numerous times since fourth year to lead the Headmaster into such a conversation, only to be rebuked, rebutted and flatly refused at every turn.

"Is that a rhetorical question, sir?"

"I am going to answer, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said after a moment, "the question that has plagued your friend Harry, and many others, for a good long while."

She stared at the old man, wondering if indeed his wits had finally escaped him. True, any explanation by the Headmaster would put to rest her fears, and answer long-asked questions, but it unnerved her that he would so readily divulge such sensitive information to her. As far as she knew, only Professor Snape and the Headmaster were aware of his full reasons for changing sides, and, according to Harry, it would remain that way. She voiced her concerns aloud.

"I have every confidence you will not betray our trust, Miss Granger," the Headmaster replied. "Your handling of this situation so far shows your maturity, and your respect for Professor Snape is unmatched by any other student, even from his own House. He is going to need someone he can rely on before this war is over, and such a person deserves nothing but the whole truth about his past."

Hermione frowned. If she didn't know better, she would think the Headmaster was trying to force them both into some form of association. She could hardly believe the Potions master had given Dumbledore leave to divulge his proverbial dark secrets to the Gryffindor Head Girl, whom he made no effort to hide his distaste for in every lesson.

"Shouldn't Professor Snape be the one to tell me about his past, if anyone, sir?" she asked.

Dumbledore smiled a little. "Severus would not agree with me telling you, Hermione, but at the same time, he trusts both myself and my judgement. He will come to realise, in time, that I made the right decision... as will you," the Headmaster added.

Hermione finally nodded. At her acquiescence, Dumbledore summoned the Pensieve from behind his desk and placed it on the table between them. He motioned for her to come closer as he prodded the silvery liquid with his wand.

"Come, Hermione," he said, taking her by the arm, and she closed her eyes as they plunged headfirst into the Pensieve.

_When she opened her eyes again, they were still in the Headmaster's office. She looked around at Dumbledore, who was standing next to her, and then at a slightly younger Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk. She turned, startled, as the door to the office burst open, and Hagrid strode into the room, tossing the limp, black-clad figure in his arms to the floor._

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**To be continued**

_A/N:__A huge thank you to southernwitch69 and aisforamy for their encouragement and suggestions, and thanks also to everyone who has read and reviewed!_


	3. Thinking

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter Three**

Hermione didn't recall the walk from the Headmaster's office back to her room. She dimly remembered the Headmaster's firm grip on her arm as he pulled her from the Pensieve. She had a vague recollection of his stern warning of the need for discretion, and her own reassurance.

Now, she was back in her bedroom, curled up in her bed, absentmindedly stroking Crookshanks. If she had thought talking to the Headmaster would ease her mind, she was dead wrong.

She certainly had no doubts as to where Severus Snape's loyalties lay now, but the things she had been shown... they would haunt her waking hours and bring nightmares in place of dreams.

If she wasn't so numb, she thought she would be hysterical. Her mind and emotions were in absolute turmoil. She felt like screaming, crying, throwing things and curling up in a ball in the corner... all at once.

In a few short hours, her perception of the Potions master had been turned completely upside down and inside out. She now understood why he was so horrible to everyone.

It was such a well-practised act, she doubted if anyone had ever looked closely enough to see through it. His hatred, his cruelty, and his coldness were all perfectly moulded to create the persona he wanted everyone to see, and it was such a loathsome façade, no one would ever bother to look beyond it. No one had ever cared to find out what made him act the way he did. People labelled him by what they saw: Death Eater, Slytherin, vindictive and uncaring teacher. Had anyone ever wondered why he made such an effort to be hated?

Despite his cruel, callous nature, it brought a strange ache to Hermione's chest to think of what his life must be; continuously caught between two masters, two loyalties, the two opposite sides of the wizarding world. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to go through life constantly looking over her shoulder. The mood of the whole wizarding world was one of apprehension lately, but to wake up every morning, not knowing if today would be the day you would be discovered, tortured and killed... it would weigh heavily on anyone's mind.

She thought back to Dumbledore's words before he took her into the Pensieve. _He is going to need someone he can rely on before this war is over._ She understood that, and she heartily agreed. The war was coming to a climax, each side biding their time, waiting for the other to make a mistake. There was a palpable tension in the air, and tempers were running high. Everyone needed someone they could talk to or lean on. What she didn't comprehend, though, was why Dumbledore thought she could be that person for Snape.

What could she possibly do to help him? _What would he let you do to help him,_ she corrected herself. He wasn't exactly the type of person to invite her into his chambers for a heart-to-heart once a week.

She almost laughed at the thought of Professor Snape curled up in an armchair with a cup of hot chocolate, telling her his innermost secrets... until she realised she'd just been shown those secrets anyway, without his knowledge.

She didn't want to imagine his reaction when he realised how much she knew. He wouldn't take his anger out on the Headmaster, he'd blame her and her penchant for wanting to know everything. She'd probably have detention for the rest of her life.

Nevertheless, she knew the truth now, and wasn't likely to forget it. Not in a hurry... not ever. Hermione Granger didn't shy away from a challenge, and perhaps this task, this mission to which Dumbledore has assigned her, was the ultimate challenge: find a way through the seemingly impenetrable facade of Severus Snape.

She just had to figure out how.

She looked at the clock, startled when she realised it was past one in the morning. She had been lost in thought for over two hours.

Quickly, she undressed and climbed under the covers, pushing a reluctant Crookshanks down to the end of the bed. A murmured _nox_ later, and the room was plunged into almost complete darkness. Only a sliver of moonlight through a crack in the curtains cast a single band of light across the floor.

Though she was tired, sleep was not forthcoming. Her mind was still teeming with thoughts and images from all she had learnt that evening, and even her usual trick of reciting the Runes alphabet in her head offered no relief.

A restless sleep finally fell upon her, but she awoke often, starting from her slumber in the dark. And every time she fell back to sleep, the hoarse screaming and pleading cries of Severus Snape invaded her dreams.

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**To be continued**

_I apologise for the shortness of this chapter. It seemed a logical place to break._

_Many thanks to michmak and southernwitch69 for their comments and advice._


	4. Wolfsbane

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter Four**

Hermione felt like she had barely slept for an hour, before the cold, grey dawn of Friday was peeking in between her curtains. Down at breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry and Ron were too preoccupied with the following day's Quidditch match to notice the dark circles under their best friend's eyes. Ron's sister, however, was more perceptive, and noticed the older girl's pasty features.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" she asked, midway through a bowl of steaming hot porridge. Hermione was lost in thought again and didn't answer for a moment.

"What? Oh, sorry Ginny," she said belatedly. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Where were you last night?" the younger girl persisted. "I came to your room just before curfew but you didn't answer."

"I was, uh," she faltered, "taking a bath. I mustn't have heard you knocking."

The younger girl studied her friend curiously, before accepting the explanation and turning back to her food. Hermione directed her attention to the Head Table, and was relieved to see an empty seat between the Headmaster and Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher.

She didn't want to face the Potions master before it was absolutely necessary. The thought of double Potions that afternoon was worrying enough. He would be completely apoplectic at Dumbledore's decision the previous night, and she knew he wouldn't miss an opportunity to belittle her in front of his favourite Slytherins. She also knew, though he had no choice but to favour the students of his own house, it was clear he enjoyed it.

Still, if six years of Potions had taught her one thing above all else, it was not to take his insults at face value. True, the derisive tone he used every time he mocked her over-achieving manner hurt, but she took pride in the fact he could find nothing in her work to criticise instead.

She knew her potions were always perfect, her essays thoughtful and intelligent. The fact that he could find nothing other than her apparently endless knowledge to mock pleased her as much as any praise she had ever received from another Professor.

She sighed, resolving not to think on the subject any longer... until that afternoon, at least. She had other classes to worry about that morning, including Medicinal Magic, the newest addition to Hogwarts' N.E.W.T. curriculum.

With the threat of Voldemort looming closer every day, Mediwizardry was a highly sought-after occupation. Normally, students were unable to study the subject until after graduation from Hogwarts, however the previous year, the Headmaster had recognised the need for young witches and wizards to be trained in the art.

The new class had been a roaring success from the outset, with most of the N.E.W.T.-level girls signing up, as well as a handful of boys. Harry and Ron had passed up the extra class to concentrate on Quidditch, but Hermione had jumped at the opportunity.

She had enjoyed the class so much last year, she was seriously considering Mediwizardry as a career. It was no surprise she was the brightest student in the class, but even Madame Pomfrey had been surprised at the ease with which she grasped each new healing charm.

This year, the class was decidedly tougher, the Mediwitch lecturing on some of the uglier hexes and brews known to wizard-kind. Recognition of these was essential to diagnosis and treatment, and Hermione left each lesson both fascinated and disturbed, but also determined. All the signs in the wizarding world pointed to her needing these skills sooner rather than later.

* * *

After lunch, Harry and Hermione parted with Ron in the Entrance Hall and make their way down to the dungeons for the last class of the day.

Moments after they had taken their seats, the door banged open and the Potions master strode into the room, whirling around to face the class as he reached the front.

"Polyjuice," he barked, waving his wand at the board where a list of ingredients appeared.

"Can anyone tell me the purpose of this concoction?"

Hermione kept her eyes to her desk, willing anyone else to venture a guess. Harry knew the answer, but his raised hand would be overlooked as surely as hers had been every lesson past. That was, if he ever voluntarily chose to answer a question in a Potions class.

"Miss Granger?"

She looked up to see Snape watching her with one eyebrow raised expectantly, no trace of malice beyond his usual contempt. _That's odd,_ she thought. _Then again, he's a spy; he has to be good at covering his emotions, right?_

"Miss Granger, perhaps you'd care to join us here in the classroom?" he smirked, as the Slytherins in the room snickered loudly. "Ten points from Gryffindor for not paying attention. Must I repeat the question?"

She sighed inwardly. At least he wasn't spitting mad. Yet.

"Polyjuice Potion allows the drinker to temporarily assume the shape of another person," she said.

Snape paused for a moment, as if expecting her to expand the definition further, as was her usual habit. When he realised she wasn't going to say any more, he replied, "Adequate, Miss Granger, albeit incomplete," and proceeded to lecture the class on the uses and misuses of the potion.

By the end of the lesson, each member of the class had extensive notes on the month-long project, and had each been assigned a partner. Hermione was thankful not to be partnered with Neville, for once. He had barely scraped into the class with the insistence of Professor Sprout that Potions went hand in hand with Herbology, and though he grasped the theory astoundingly well, he was still a walking disaster within six feet of a cauldron.

Her partner was Susan Bones from Hufflepuff, a quiet girl with a good hand at Potion-making and a genuine interest in the subject. She hoped to become a Mediwitch after graduation, and medicinal potions were essential knowledge in the field of study. Not all Mediwitches were as lucky as Madame Pomfrey, having a Potions Master at their disposal.

Harry hadn't been so lucky. Snape had taken particularly vicious pleasure in partnering him with Malfoy, although for once the Slytherin Head Boy wasn't smirking at Harry's misfortune. At the end of the lesson the two boys were sitting as far away from each other as physically possible while working at the same table, and eyeing each other with equal amounts of apprehension and loathing.

Hermione waited for Harry at the back of the classroom, if only to stop him hexing Malfoy the minute they stepped out into the corridor. She could tell from the tension in his shoulders he was absolutely incensed at Snape's choice of partner for him, and his temper was worse than usual as of late. Hermione and Ron put it down to the stress of NEWTs and the ominous threat of another confrontation with Voldemort, but Harry didn't hesitate to take out his frustrations on other people, especially Slytherins.

Malfoy brushed past her without a glance, and Harry joined her a moment later. They had just stepped into the corridor when, "Miss Granger, a word if you please."

Hermione looked down the corridor, past where Harry had stopped to wait for her. The momentary distraction had allowed Malfoy to disappear down towards the Slytherin Common Room.

"I'll see you at dinner," she said to Harry, and muttered under her breath, "if I'm still alive."

Harry obviously heard the comment, because he stopped and fixed her with a worried look.

She waved him off with a short, forced laugh and stepped back into the classroom, preparing to face the wrath of the Potions master. As soon as she was clear of the door, it slammed shut. Snape had not moved from his desk, but he looked up and beckoned her to sit across from him.

"Miss Granger, are you familiar with the theory of the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Sir?" After all her worrying, all he wanted to talk about was a potion?

He sighed impatiently. "Wolfsbane, Miss Granger," he bit out impatiently. "You are no doubt aware of my reasons for making the potion. Can I assume you understand the theory of the brew?"

"Yes, Professor," she replied. "The most common mistake in--"

"I didn't ask for you to recite a textbook," he snapped. "Knowing the theory by heart, and understanding how it must be applied to practice, are two completely different things. You must understand the properties of each ingredient, as well as the ways in which they will react with one another--"

He was interrupted by a whoosh of green from the fireplace, and a moment later, the Headmaster's head appeared in the dancing flames.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said, "I wonder if I might have a few words?"

"No doubt it shall be more than a few," Snape said. "I will be through momentarily, when I am able to relieve myself of Miss Granger's presence."

The Headmaster looked to Hermione and nodded by way of acknowledgement. The look in his eyes was meaningful and suddenly everything fell into place.

_That explains why Professor Snape has been so... normal_, she thought. Nice didn't exactly cut it, but he hadn't been any nastier than usual to her that afternoon. Dumbledore obviously had the foresight to wait until _after_ her last Potions class of the week to inform Snape of her newfound knowledge. She wouldn't have to see him for almost three days, and by then the worst of his anger toward her would have hopefully passed.

As Dumbledore's head disappeared, she turned back to the Potions Master and waited expectantly.

"Wolfsbane Potion, Miss Granger," he stated. "Do you feel capable of brewing it?"

_Brewing it?_ Was he going to give her the chance to do so? Her heart began beating wildly at the excitement of such an opportunity.

"I, uh, of course, sir," she stammered. "That is to say, I understand the theory, although I've obviously never had the chance to put that knowledge to practical use. I feel confident that with-"

"Yes or no will suffice," he cut in.

"Yes," she said, adding belatedly, "sir."

"Very well," he said, ignoring her disrespect. "The Wolfsbane needs to be brewed tonight, and as I may be called away, the Headmaster has _recommended_ I call upon a competent student for assistance."

Any pride Hermione might have felt at being considered for the task was dulled with the realisation she would have to see the Potions master merely hours after his meeting with Dumbledore. She fought the impulse to flatly refuse the invitation, but her academic mind wouldn't hear of it. He was offering her a wonderful opportunity, not only to observe him brewing the potion, but possibly the chance to contribute herself.

"Make no mistake, Miss Granger," he sneered. "Had it been up to me, you would be far from my laboratory and the werewolf could go begging for his tonic. However, considering you are already aware of both Lupin's condition and... how did you put it, my _extracurricular activities_... you are the logical choice for the task."

Her stomach dropped as she understood the meaning of his words. She would be there to observe and learn. The only reason she would be taking over the brewing herself was if Voldemort summoned Snape.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "I'm grateful for the opportunity even to observe the process."

He looked slightly surprised by her obviously sincere thanks, but covered it well with another sneer. "As I said, Miss Granger, I had little choice in the matter... however I believe you will make a... satisfactory... assistant."

It took all her composure not to grin broadly at the closest thing to a compliment she was ever likely to receive from him. He took in her expression and for an instant she thought she saw his eyes glint with something other than malice or hatred. Amusement, perhaps? Or understanding?

No matter, for in the next instant, he was standing and ushering her out of the classroom. It wouldn't do to keep the Headmaster waiting any longer than necessary.

"Seven o'clock," he said, as she reached the door. "Do not be late."

* * *

It was blatantly obvious when Hermione arrived at the Potions classroom just before seven o'clock that Snape knew everything Dumbledore had told her.

The cold anger that blazed behind his eyes as he looked at her was more terrifying than if he had shouted. The tension in the air was palpable as he spoke a single word to her, "Come."

He spun on his heel, not bothering to see if she was following. He led her into the office connected to the classroom, and then pulled out his wand. She watched with wide eyes, wondering whether he was going to hex her or kill her, until he turned to a wall of bare stones and tapped them in a precise pattern.

She drew in a deep breath. If she wasn't so terrified, she would have laughed at her absurd presumption.

The stone wall melted away, and again he beckoned for her to follow him. The dark, dank corridor they entered gave way to an equally dark and narrow flight of stairs. She followed the Potions master closely, lest she lose him in the dark, yet not close enough to risk bumping into him, should he suddenly halt.

After an indeterminable number of stairs and a whispered password, she found herself in a windowless room similar to the Potions classroom; the Potions master's private lab.

Long, wooden workbenches split the room into several rows, and each was set up with cauldrons of every imaginable size and material. The far wall was lined with shelves of jars, each containing odd shapes held in a viscous-looking liquid. To her right were a series of cabinets, presumably containing potions ingredients. To her left, the wall was bare, but for a desk piled high with books and parchments, and another wooden door like the one through which they had just entered the room.

"Sit," he said, startling her from her inspection of the room. He was pointing toward an uncomfortable-looking stool at the end of the nearest table.

She complied, and he went to the cabinets, gathering the ingredients for the potion. She sighed. If he was going to talk in monosyllables, this was going to be a very long evening. Surely, he could put aside his anger for just a few hours. While the potion wasn't exactly crucial to the war effort, failure to make it properly would result in one of the Order members being out of service for at least a week; something she knew they couldn't afford at this time.

"Now," he said, placing both hand flat on the workbench and leaning across the table until his face was inches from her own. "I do not have to explain to you the importance of making this potion promptly and correctly, do I?"

She shook her head, trying desperately not to flinch away from his closeness.

"While we are in this laboratory, our sole purpose is to make potions. I will not stand for mindless chatter or ridiculous questions, and most of all," he leant even closer, and for the second time that week she saw herself reflected in his eyes, "I do not want to hear mention of _anything_ that meddling old fool thought to show you last night."

She nodded.

He withdrew across the table and she sighed with relief. He was still terribly angry; she could tell from the jerkiness of his movements and the tightness in his jaw. She was relieved, however, that he didn't seem to blame her for the Headmaster's forwardness.

Moments later, all the ingredients were laid out across the workbench and, back in teacher mode, he explained the properties of each ingredient and their purpose in the potion.

She watched, mesmerised by his hands, as he chopped, shredded and sliced the plants and animal parts into precise portions. The potency of the potion, he explained, depended as much upon the exact preparation of the ingredients as on the brewing itself.

She asked a minimum of questions, but he answered all of them concisely, without the impatient bite his voice so often held in the classroom. She realised that tonight, in this lab, he wasn't treating her as another dunderhead student. Stunned at the thought of Severus Snape considering _anyone_ his equal, let alone a Muggleborn Gryffindor, she realised he was staring at her expectantly.

"Sir?"

"I asked you a question, Miss Granger," he bit out, and at her blank look, "given the consequences of you failing to brew this properly, it would do you well to pay attention when I am speaking."

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, chastened. He snorted and turned back to the final ingredient, which he was dicing expertly. _So much for equal_, she thought wryly. For a moment there, she was beginning to understand Dumbledore's intentions.

A sudden hiss of pain startled her, and she looked up to see blood oozing from Snape's hand where the knife had slipped. He dropped the offending instrument quickly on the table, but instead of tending the wound, his right hand reached to clutch his left forearm.

Hermione understood in an instant, and had to quell the sudden, somewhat disturbing urge to reach out to him.

"There is more knotgrass in that cabinet," he said, gesturing over his shoulder and quickly banishing both the bloodied knife and spoiled ingredients with a flick of his wand. "Complete and bottle the potion, except for a goblet-full, which you will promptly deliver to Professor Lupin. I trust you are capable of cleaning up and leaving the room as you found it?"

She nodded her acquiescence as he disappeared through the door near his desk. She glanced through and saw a glimpse of what appeared to be a sitting room. She realised it must be part of his private quarters and wondered what Harry and Ron would say if they knew she'd seen them.

She giggled as she imagined the look on Ron's face, but composed herself a moment later as Snape reappeared, scowling, and wearing the same heavy black velvet robes as when she had met him in the Entrance Hall earlier that week. He slammed the door behind him, and she saw the dull blue shimmer of wards activating.

Striding past her to the fireplace, he threw a handful of powder into the flames and called for the Headmaster. Dumbledore's face appeared seconds later, his face changing from a smile to a frown as he noticed Snape's robes.

"I've been summoned," Snape said shortly. "I'll report to you when I return."

Before the Headmaster could respond, Snape turned away from the fireplace and, without a backward glance in her direction, headed for the door that led back to the Potions classroom.

"Be careful, sir," she called to his retreating back.

He paused momentarily, one hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn around. A slight tensing of his shoulders was the only other sign he may have heard her, and then he was gone.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed!_

_This story is also posted at the On-line Wizarding Library. Updates are one chapter ahead of this archive. See my author page for the link:)_


	5. Anticipation

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter Five**

Hermione stretched and massaged the muscles in the back of her neck, sore from bending too long over the steaming cauldron. It was almost three hours since Professor Snape had been summoned, leaving her in charge of the Wolfsbane, though in her concentration, she had hardly noticed the time pass.

She truly appreciated, now, the skills and dedication it must have taken Snape to become a Master of Potions. Brews such as the one she had just completed were only the surface of a Master's capabilities, yet required utmost precision. Stirring had to be precise in both number and speed, ingredients added at exact moments, and the flame of the burner carefully controlled.

As with all her Potions work, the brew appeared exactly as described in the text. The real test, however, would be the change in colour as the potion cooled. Properly brewed, the murky grey-green liquid should lighten to a very pale grey when cooled. Any trace of green meant an error in brewing, and the retention of the poisonous component of the hellebore. Such a concoction would be fatal to the drinker.

Anxiously, she watched the cooling potion for signs of the change. Nothing so far, and she consulted the textbook again: _"At the precise moment the brew reaches 174 degrees Fahrenheit, the colour-change should begin to take place."_

She bit her lip nervously. She knew a number of temperature detection charms, but she was hesitant to use any of them on such a volatile mixture. _What I wouldn't give for a Muggle thermometer right now,_ she thought wryly. If there was one thing she'd learnt in her years in the magical world, it was that wizards didn't always do it better. Mostly, but not always.

She started suddenly as the cauldron gave a large _belch_. Then there was a soft _hiss_ as the potion faded to pale grey without a hint of green.

"Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger," she mimicked, then snorted. _That will be the day. I've brewed a Master level potion and I bet he won't even have the grace to say well done._

She made quick work of cleaning up most of the lab while waiting for the potion to finish cooling. As instructed, she bottled the potion but for a goblet-full, then cleaned the cauldron. Looking around, she felt satisfied she'd left Snape's private laboratory in pristine condition. She double-checked all the work benches were clean, and then picked up the goblet of potion to take to Professor Lupin.

The door snapped shut behind her as she exited the room, the same dull blue shimmer as before indicating the reappearance of the wards. A quick muttered _Lumos_ gave her just enough light to navigate the narrow stairwell and passageway, before she found herself back in his classroom office.

From the passage to the office, the office to the classroom and the classroom to the main dungeon corridor, all the doors warded themselves with the same spell as she closed them. _And I thought Moody was paranoid,_ she mused. It was one thing to ward a room full of dangerous potions ingredients, but this was ridiculous!

Leaving the dungeons behind, she made her way carefully up three flights of stairs and through the classroom to the Defence teacher's office. The door at the top of the stone stairs was ajar, and she could hear low voices coming from within. She knocked tentatively, and a moment later, the door opened to reveal Professor Lupin and the Headmaster sitting either side of the desk, with a round porcelain teapot and two cups between them.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" said the Headmaster, glancing at the goblet still held carefully in her hands. "I trust the brewing was a success."

She nodded, "I think so, Professor."

She handed the goblet to Lupin and watched as he took a whiff of the brew and wrinkled his nose.

"It smells right," he said, and proceeded to drink the entire gobletful down in one gulp. "Ughhh," he shuddered, as he set the empty cup on the table. "It certainly tastes right. I had hoped that Severus, in all his brilliance, might have found a way to make it taste better after all these years."

The Headmaster chuckled.

"Thank you, Hermione," Lupin said seriously. "I'm lucky to have one, let alone two, people skilled enough to brew this potion for me. You truly are a very talented young witch."

"Thank _you_, Professor," she replied, flushing slightly. "But Professor Snape still did most of the preparation. Everything had to be so precise. It would have taken me hours to complete what he managed in minutes. He really is brilliant when it comes to Potions, isn't he?" she added.

Both Professors nodded in agreement, Dumbledore somewhat sadly.

"That he is, Hermione," Lupin elaborate. "I was in class with him for seven years, and the only time his potion came out less than perfect was—"

"_Ahem_."

Lupin trailed off at the Headmaster's loud, obvious interruption and Hermione gave them both a quizzical look.

"I think enough of Severus' past has gone on display, for now," he said softly.

Now it was Lupin's turn to give the Headmaster a curious look.

"Well," said Dumbledore, feigning unawareness of Lupin's confusion. "We better leave you to sleep that potion off, Remus. Come along, Hermione. I'd like a word about your Head Girl duties."

Hermione allowed herself to be ushered from Professor Lupin's office, and didn't speak until they reached the stone gargoyle at the foot of the Headmaster's hidden staircase, which sprang aside without a spoken password from the aging wizard.

"Headmaster, Professor Snape didn't come back to the lab before I left, but I've left everything as I found it. I wasn't sure how he preferred to ward the storage cupboards, but the room seemed to lock itself when I left."

"That should be quite all right, Miss Granger," he assured her, as they reached the top of the stairs and entered his office. He gestured her into one of the chair by the fireplace. "I will be sure to mention your success with the potion to Professor Snape when he returns. I may even be able to persuade him to award you some House points."

If Hermione had been any other student, at that moment, she would have been imagining with glee the look on Snape's face if he were forced to award points to Gryffindor. As it was, she hardly heard the comment about the points.

"He hasn't returned?"

"Not yet," said Dumbledore heavily. "Although often he does not return until just before dawn, depending on the circumstances of the night."

_Depending on how many raids have taken place_, Hermione thought, her stomach turning at the thought of another front page _Daily Prophet_ report; another family massacred.

"Have no fear, Miss Granger," Dumbledore assured her. "Severus has been doing this for a very long while. I have as much confidence in his skills as a spy as I do in his talent as a Potions master. Every summons he attends brings us one step closer to discovering Voldemort's plans for a final confrontation."

"It also brings Professor Snape one step closer to death," she murmured sadly, almost to herself.

Dumbledore regarded her carefully over the top of his half-moon glasses.

"Forgive me, Miss Granger," he said, conjuring a tea set – silver, this time – with a wave of his hand. "I sometimes forget how perceptive you are."

She favoured him with a wan smile as she accepted the steaming cup of tea. True, she was perceptive, but she had discovered it wasn't always a good thing. It had certainly given her a lot more to worry about in the last few days.

"I hope Severus didn't direct any of his anger towards you, earlier this evening," Dumbledore inquired.

She shook her head. "No, sir. He _was_ angry, but all he said was that we were in the lab to work, and he wouldn't hear mention of anything unrelated to the potion."

"Ah, that sounds like Severus," he mused. "He's a brilliant man, and very dedicated to his work, but he tends to use it as a front when he is upset."

Hermione didn't have time to digest the comment because at that moment, a piercing cry rang out across the room, and Fawkes the phoenix appeared in a blaze of glorious colour. The beautiful bird circled the room twice, before coming to rest on its perch near Dumbledore's desk.

"Speak of the devil; is that not the Muggle saying, Miss Granger? I believe Severus will be with us shortly."

"I'll go, sir," she said, standing up quickly.

"I think, actually, I may ask you to stay," the Headmaster replied, motioning for her to retake her seat.

She stood undecided for a moment. On one hand, she wanted to see the Potions professor and reassure herself that he had, indeed, returned in one piece. The feeling she had in the pit of her stomach all night, knowing he may be in danger, was something she was unwilling to examine at the present time.

On the other hand, she was scared of how he would react to her now, without the Wolfsbane Potion requiring their utmost attention. Perhaps resolving the matter with Dumbledore present _was_ a good idea. Still... it felt _wrong_.

"Sir, it's not my place," she began, but the Headmaster raised his hand.

"I wish for you to stay," he said firmly. "Besides, if Severus has anything to report, it may do us well to have a different point of view. As I said, you are very perceptive."

She sat down again, twisting the folds of her robes nervously in her hands. Dumbledore, too, sat down, after first conjuring another armchair to join their two by the fire.

A moment later, they heard heavy boots on the stone steps, and the wooden door swung open.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed. I love hearing your comments, and thanks to the wonderful Potion Mistress, I've been able to respond to most of them over on the OWL archive. See my author page for the link.  
_


	6. Dumbledore's Wishes

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 6**

A scowl crossed Snape's face when he saw Hermione sitting with Dumbledore, but he said nothing of it as he made his way over and sank into the empty armchair, his usual grace slightly lacking.

"There has been another attack," he said wearily.

The Headmaster nodded, conjuring a third teacup and magicking it, full, to hover in front of the Potions master. _When all else fails, make a cup of tea_,Hermione thought. It was a habit Dumbledore must have picked up from Mrs. Weasley, or vice versa. "It was to be expected. Were you present?"

Snape nodded. "We were unaware of our destination. We took a Portkey at the last minute. I had no time to issue a warning."

Hermione was troubled by the despair the Potions master was exuding. Not in his face; the cold, indifferent mask was in place, as usual, but in the bitterness of his voice.

"Who was targeted tonight?" Dumbledore asked softly, leaning forward in his chair. The question hung in the air as Snape regarded him through a curtain of lank hair.

"Aurors," said Snape, and then after a pause, "Shacklebolt."

Dumbledore drew in a sharp breath and sat back again, the twinkle abruptly extinguished from his eyes as he took in the news. "Were you hurt?" he enquired.

"No more than anyone else," Snape replied sardonically.

"_Severus_."

"It's nothing," Snape said firmly, pushing his black hair back from his face.

It was only then the other two occupants of the room could see the bloody gash down the side of his face, disappearing up into his hairline near the temple. Hermione inhaled sharply as she took in the stark contrast of the fresh blood again the pale skin and black hair.

"I assure you," he sneered, with a cursory glance in her direction, "it's not nearly as bad as it looks. I merely became caught in the crossfire. Unlike the other person I encountered on our side tonight, I still _have_ my head."

Hermione wasn't able to stifle her gasp aloud at that, and the Headmaster stood up abruptly.

"Severus!"

Hermione sat there in shock. When Snape had mentioned the attack, it hadn't occurred to her the man had actually been killed. He was an _Auror_, after all. Weren't they the most formidable wizards in the community? If they couldn't stand up to a Death Eater attack, what hope did the rest of the wizarding world have?

Furthermore, Kingsley Shacklebolt wasn't just an Auror, but also a member of the Order. Though she'd only spoken with the dark man a few times, he'd seemed friendly and good-natured, despite being a powerful wizard with a difficult job. He'd been one of the wizards to rescue Harry from Privet Drive in the summer after the Voldemort's return, and his quick thinking the previous year had saved the lives of many of her classmates when Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade. She'd watched him duel in that attack, and he'd seemed a formidable ally. Surely he would have been able to fight off a few Death Eaters. He couldn't really be...

"Dead?" she murmured, barely audibly, but Snape heard her.

"Dead, Miss Granger?" Snape mocked. "Now, why would you think that? We just broke into his house to sit down for a friendly chat with him about world politics."

"_Severus,_" Dumbledore said again. "That was uncalled for."

"So was her question," the Potions master snapped. "What is she even _doing_ here? She has no right to hear any of this."

Hermione stood up and addressed her teacher, failing to keep the annoyance from her voice. "Sir, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't talk about me as though I'm not in the room. Whatever you want to say, you can say it to my face."

Snape stood up as well, closing the distance between them with a few steps, until he towered over her. She stood her ground, meeting his angry gaze with her own.

"You have no right to be here," he said in a voice of forced calm.

"_Severus,_" the Headmaster's voice cut in again, but they both ignored him. Hermione wasn't about to back down. She hadn't asked to attend the meeting, and she resented the implication her presence was self-inflicted.

"Do you think I want to be here?" she said, still face-to-face with Snape. "Do you think I haven't got enough to worry about this year, with N.E.W.T.s and Head Girl duties, not to mention the fact that a very mad, very powerful wizard is still trying to kill my best friend?"

"You are _both_ here at my invitation," Dumbledore interjected firmly. "I understand your misgivings, Severus-" – Snape snorted - "-and yours, Miss Granger. I only ask that you _try_ to work together."

Hermione looked from Snape to Dumbledore and then sat down, conceding defeat for the time being. Snape, too, resumed his seat, throwing dark looks at the Headmaster.

"Now," said Dumbledore, calmly taking a sip of his tea. "Is there anything else I should know, Severus?"

Snape nodded, absentmindedly rubbing at a trickle of blood about to run into the high collar of his frock coat. He must have discarded the outer Death Eater robe Hermione had seen him wearing last time before coming up to the Headmaster's office.

"The Dark Lord is becoming more and more impatient with me to complete the potion," Snape said. "I don't know much longer I can feign failure."

"Have you had any luck with a counter-potion?" the Headmaster asked. "We cannot afford to supply Tom with such a weapon without an antidote ready at hand."

Snape was shaking his head even before the Headmaster finished speaking. "All my attempts so far to counter the effects of the cowbane have failed. Hemlock would be the obvious choice, but when combined with the other ingredients, it reacts with the cowbane to magnify the pain instead of nullifying it."

Hermione didn't need to hear any further description of the potion's ingredients to realise it was an ugly brew. Although she'd never used it, cowbane was the primary ingredient in _Painful Death_, a potion often used to put magical creatures to death if they caused injury to witches or wizards. The thought of Voldemort intending to use a similar potion on humans turned her stomach.

"I only have so much time to spend on the antidote," Snape said, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly with two fingers. "I still have marking to do for my classes, and the infirmary stocks cannot be depleted at a time like this. Furthermore, I have to keep a stock of decoy potions on hand in case I am summoned, to demonstrate my apparent progress to the Dark Lord."

"There is much to be done," the Headmaster agreed, nodding, "however the creation of the counter-potion must be our top priority."

"I realise that," Snape said, "but there's only so much I can do without resorting to using one of those inane Time Turners, and you know very well that potions brewed in time loops are useless. I could only use the device to gain some extra hours for marking."

At the mention of Time Turners, Dumbledore's gaze drifted from Snape to Hermione. "Miss Granger, you're taking the Medicinal Magic class this year, are you not?"

She nodded, and he regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. "Severus," he addressed the Potions master, "do you feel Miss Granger would be capable of brewing the potions required for the infirmary?"

Hermione looked from the Headmaster to the Potions professor, wondering how he would respond to that question. He wasn't exactly known for handing out compliments, especially where Gryffindors were concerned, but he couldn't deny her potions were always top notch.

"I believe Miss Granger could produce _adequate_ brews," Snape replied, smirking, as though daring her to question his assessment.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "It's settled then!"

"What?" Hermione and Snape both spoke at the same time.

Dumbledore regarded them both from over the top of his half-moon glasses, the twinkle suspiciously returning to his eyes. "Miss Granger can brew the potions for the infirmary," he declared, "leaving you, Severus, with more time to concentrate on your other endeavours."

Snape let out a rather loud sigh and leant back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he muttered under his breath, "Very well."

_Very well?_ Hermione thought, turning to stare at the man incredulously. Since when did Snape agree to share his workload with a Gryffindor student? She knew Dumbledore would have his way in the end, but she'd never known the Potions master _not_ to voice his objections when being forced into something untoward. Vehemently, at that.

"It seems, Miss Granger," Snape bit out impatiently, "that the Headmaster, in his all-knowing wisdom, will see us working together whether we like it or not."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I don't pretend to be all-knowing, Severus. I merely know more than _you_."

The Potions master glowered and Dumbledore chuckled again.

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione said. "I recognise the importance of the task, but when am I to find the time? I have a full class schedule as well as my Head Girl duties and..."

She trailed off and looked to the Headmaster.

"I believe half of the Medicinal Magic curriculum covers healing charms, while the other covers potions," he stated. "Therefore, you may continue to attend the charms classes, and use the potions classes to brew for Professor Snape."

"You want me to drop part of the class?" Hermione burst out.

"I would imagine you'll receive full credit for the potions section of the class," Snape offered, smirking again, "provided your potions are of the standard expected for infirmary supplies."

"Come now, Severus," the Headmaster said, smiling broadly. "We both know Miss Granger's potions will be nothing short of perfect. Why, wasn't it just the other day you were telling me what a shame it was you couldn't award points to your most brilliant student because she was a Gryffindor?"

Hermione stared incredulously at her professor for the second time that night. The pink spots that appeared high on his cheeks only confirmed Dumbledore's pronouncement. She had to work desperately to stop a broad grin from breaking out on her face. She had been hoping for a commendation from the Head of Slytherin since her first year, and despite it not being delivered directly from the man, it still gave her a warm glow of happiness to know her efforts in Potions hadn't been entirely in vain.

"Yes, well," Snape said, as he stood up and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm sure your assistance will be... useful."

"I'll do the best I can, Professor," she said, allowing a small smile to cross her face.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together as he stood up behind his desk. "I think that concludes our meeting tonight. Miss Granger, thank you for your assistance with the Wolfsbane Potion earlier. Severus, I will organise a meeting with the Order at the earliest possible convenience to discuss the news, but in the meantime, was there anything else you wished to discuss?"

The Potions master shook his head, pushing his hair back from his eyes. Hermione noticed a few strands had stuck to the drying blood down the side of his face.

"Very well," said the Headmaster, also watching the Snape. "Severus, perhaps you will allow Miss Granger to look at that before you leave."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Snape said, scowling, "but I'm quite capable of healing it myself."

"Oh, I know you're quite capable," Dumbledore said cheerily, "but Madam Pomfrey tells me Miss Granger is the top of her class, and even I'm not too comfortable pointing my wand at my own face. Miss Granger, will you see to Professor Snape before you leave?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded, not failing to notice the scowl on Snape's face deepen.

"Good," said the Headmaster. "I will see you both tomorrow." He exited his office through a side door Hermione hadn't noticed before, leaving her alone with the Potions master.

_Might as well get this over and done with_, she thought. She stood up and moved towards Snape, but he held out his hand to stop her coming any closer.

"Not so fast, Miss Granger," he said. "I'm quite capable of handling this myself, despite what the Headmaster thinks. You can be on your way."

"But-" she began.

"No buts, Miss Granger," he said, raising his voice slightly. "Can you not tell when you are not welcome?"

_Not around you_, she thought. He had always treated her with the same cold indifference he afforded the rest of the students. She had been foolish to think his attitude toward her would change after the events of the past week, even if he had been almost pleasant to her when they were making the Wolfsbane. It was obviously a momentary lapse on his part, and, to Hermione's dismay, unlikely to happen again.

He strode past her to the door, meaning to open it and usher her out, but as his hand came into contact with the handle, it emitted a stream of red sparks and he pulled his arm away with a jerk. He stared at his hand for a moment, rubbing his palm, and then withdrew his wand from up his sleeve.

"_Finite Incantatem_," he intoned, and then reached for the handle again, only to receive another jolt and another shower of sparks.

Hermione watched interestedly as he tried a series of spells, all designed to drop wards, cancel silencing charms or open magical locks. After each one, the result was the same, and he eventually gave up.

"Blasted old fool," he said under his breath, rubbing his right palm with his left hand again, ignoring Hermione completely as he strode to the fireplace.

"I trust you know the password to your common room?" he said over his shoulder, as he took a pinch of Floo Powder and stepped into the fireplace himself. Not waiting for answer, he threw down the glittery dust and snapped, "Potions classroom!"

A moment later, he stepped back out of the fireplace, brushing the Floo Powder from his robes where it had fallen, useless as fairy dust. Hermione tried to conceal her amusement. She had realised halfway through Snape's attempts to open the door what was happening. Dumbledore hadn't just _asked_ her to see to the Potions master's head before they both left, he'd _insisted_ upon it. _And what the Headmaster wishes, the Headmaster gets_, she thought, and cleared her throat loudly.

Snape looked at her still standing in the middle of the room. "Well, don't just stand there, girl," he groused. "Do you _want_ to be stuck in here with me all night?"

"It seems, Professor," she said, with only the slightest trace of amusement, "that neither of us will be able to leave here until Dumbledore's wishes are fulfilled."

"And what wishes are they?" he snapped, turning to her.

She pointed to his face.

"I told you am perfectly capable of taking care of it myself, Miss Granger," he stated angrily.

"I know that," she said calmly, in an effort to abate his anger. "But it seems neither my wishes nor yours matter."

He stared around the room for a moment, as if searching for another way out. Then, with a sigh of annoyance and something muttered under his breath which sounded suspiciously like, _meddlesome old man_, he crossed the room to stand in front of Hermione.

She looked up at him.

"Well, get on with it," he said, exasperated. "The sooner you heal the damn scratch, the sooner we can be free of each other's presence."

"Could you sit down, sir?" she requested waspishly. "I can't exactly see what I'm doing when you're towering over me in such a manner."

He raised an eyebrow at her tone, but, realising she was his only way out of the Headmaster's office, conceded his height advantage and lowered himself into the same chair she had occupied earlier.

Feeling a lot less intimidated, she pulled out her wand and moved to his side to examine the cut. He was right, it really wasn't all that bad; it had just bled a lot, as head wounds were apt to do. She spoke a cleansing charm so she could see the actual cut more clearly, and then set about performing the healing charm she had learnt earlier that year.

He watched her carefully at first, but then closed his eyes as her wand came nearer to them. She furrowed her brow in concentration as she reached the end of the incantation, and was delighted to see the cut disappearing completely under her steady wand.

"There," she said softly, lowering her wand and reaching her other hand out to touch the unbroken skin. "As good as-"

As soon as her fingertips came into contact with his face, he jerked away, staring wildly about, as if he'd momentarily forgotten where he was. His dark gaze eventually came to rest on her, and her hand, still extended only inches from his face.

"I, uh... sorry," she faltered, "I was just making sure there wouldn't, uh, wouldn't be a scar. May I?"

She gestured to her outstretched hand, and there was an awkward silence before he nodded, turning his face slightly away from her. She reached out tentatively, her fingertips just touching the skin of his temple. When he didn't flinch or pull away, she pressed a little more firmly and ran her hand slowly down the side of his face, following the now-invisible line of the wound.

He closed his eyes again, and exhaled a breath. _Or was that a sigh?_ she thought, taking the opportunity to study him while he was unaware. His whole demeanour had changed in the last few minutes, from one of defiance to one of resignation... or was it contentment? As she ran her fingers further down his face, feeling the slight stubble just breaking the skin near his jaw, she could have sworn he shivered under her touch.

Suddenly, she realised his eyes were open again, and he was watching her. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away and stepped back from his personal space.

"There," she said again. "As good as new."

His dark eyes were unreadable as he brought his own hand up to trace the side of his face, mimicking her earlier path. She returned his gaze, vaguely aware of some strange feeling she couldn't identify warring with the discomfort in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't fear... could it possibly be… anticipation?

_Don't be daft, Granger,_ she scolded herself. _Anticipation for what?_

She didn't get a chance to address that question, because at that moment, the door to the office suddenly flew open in a flash of green sparks.

"I would imagine that is our cue to depart, Miss Granger," Snape said, standing up.

Hermione was dismayed to see him revert back to his normal disposition once again. _Just another lapse in his concentration_, she thought. _The Potions master returns_.

Reluctantly, she let him usher her wordlessly out of the office, and down past the spiral stairs and stone gargoyle to the main hall. Not expecting another word from the aloof teacher, she made to head upstairs to the Gryffindor common room when his voice halted her.

"Miss Granger!"

She turned, her foot on the first step. "Yes, sir?"

He looked around quickly, as if making sure they were safe from any hidden ears of wayward students out past curfew.

"That was a commendable effort on the Wolfsbane Potion, Miss Granger," he said. "Your assistance was..." he searched for the right word, "appreciated."

"Thank you, sir," she said, struggling to keep a neutral expression on her face. "I'm glad I was able to help."

He nodded, and then spun on his heel, striding to the dungeon stairs and disappearing down into the darkness.

When Hermione turned back to her own staircase, she stopped fighting her emotions and let the huge grin she had been suppressing spill out across her face.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Comments are always appreciated._


	7. Celebrations and Conversations

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter 7**

The following afternoon saw Hermione and most of her classmates out at the Quidditch pitch for the highly anticipated Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game. This year, with 'the famous Harry Potter' in his final season, Gryffindor wanted the Quidditch Cup more than ever, having lost to Slytherin the previous year in a vicious final match. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were, without a doubt, the two best teams in the school this year, and it was assured to be a great match, despite the inclement weather which had rolled in overnight.

An icy wind was whipping through the Hogwarts grounds and by the time the match had been in progress for an hour, the wind was accompanied by freezing snow and sleet. Even the warming charm Hermione had cast on herself wasn't enough to keep out the biting wind, so it was with chattering teeth she cheered Harry, Ron and the rest of the Gryffindor team.

Even in the foul weather, it was plain to see the teams were evenly matched. The scores were level and though the Chasers were fighting the wind each time they attempted a shot at goal, the Keepers could barely see the Quaffle in time to block it. The spectators and players alike knew the match would come down to which Seeker caught the Golden Snitch.

Squinting up into the driving snow, Hermione could just make out Harry, hovering well above the play, searching for the Snitch. Orla Quirke, Ravenclaw's star Seeker, was on the move, zooming around the outside of the pitch at play level.

Hermione bit her lip worriedly. On a fine day, Harry's strategy of sitting above the play and scanning the pitch for a sign of the tiny golden ball was sound, but in this weather he hadn't a hope of spotting the Snitch from up there, short of it whizzing directly past his face. Down one end of the pitch, Ron was obviously thinking the same thing. He was gesturing wildly at Harry to come down, but his waving was blocked by another flurry of swirling snow.

Gazing around the crowd, Hermione could just make out the teacher's box directly across the pitch from her, and the dark form of Severus Snape in the front row. He looked as drab as the weather, his usual robes accompanied by a thick black scarf wrapped around his neck. Even his face, the only colour in what looked to Hermione like a black void amidst the sea of red, gold and blue, was obscured as the wind whipped his black hair across it.

Strange, Hermione thought, that he would be wasting time at a Quidditch match when his House wasn't even playing. After all the work he was doing for the Order and Voldemort in additional to his teaching duties, Quidditch seemed quite trivial compared to his other tasks. Perhaps Dumbledore insisted upon it, Hermione mused. Heads of Houses _were_ supposed to set an example, after all. Still, under the circumstances Dumbledore should have realised there were more important things than open displays of inter-House camaraderie.

_Inter-House bare tolerance_, she corrected herself, remembering who she was thinking about.

Her attention snapped back to the match at a sudden _"Ooooh!"_ from the spectators on the far side of the stands. The snowstorm had eased up in the last few minutes, and she could see the Ravenclaw Seeker ducking and weaving, low to the ground, obviously hot on the tail of the elusive Snitch.

Hermione, along with the rest of the crowd, searched the sky for the other Seeker, and gasped as a blur of red and gold Quidditch robes plummeted toward the ground at an impossible angle.

"It's the Wronski Feint!" yelled Dean Thomas, who had taken over Quidditch commentary when Lee Jordan left Hogwarts the previous year. "But this is no joke! Potter is closing on Quirke fast!"

Hermione and her fellow Gryffindors screamed themselves hoarse as Harry pulled out of his dive level with the Ravenclaw Seeker. They streaked across the field, a blur of house colours, neither having the burst of speed required to snare the Snitch.

All play had stopped to watch the Seekers as they drew near to one end of the pitch. The stands were dead ahead, just behind the goal posts, and the snitch was going to turn left or right. Whoever anticipated the move could trap the golden ball and win the match.

Harry, on the left of Quirke, jostled with her, trying to throw her off course, but it was no use. They were mere metres from the solid wall of the stands.

The crowd had gone completely silent, making the howling wind seem even louder than before. Everyone was holding their breath. Even the teachers, Hermione noticed, Snape included, were leaning forwards in their seats for a better view.

She watched in amazement as, at an impossibly late moment, Harry performed a one-handed Sloth Grip Roll and veered _under_ Quirke's broom. At the same instant, the Golden Snitch swerved sharply to the right, and when Harry righted himself on his broom, the Snitch was clutched firmly in his outstretched hand.

A roar erupted from the Gryffindor side of the stands, and Hermione clapped until her hands were stinging, even through her gloves. Down on the pitch, Harry was mobbed by a team group-hug, before extracting himself to shake Quirke's hand. The Ravenclaws were gracious in defeat and as the snow became heavier again, the Gryffindors trooped back to their common room for a party to remember.

* * *

Very late that night, Hermione left the common room after finally, and with the help of a happy but irate Professor McGonagall, convincing Harry, Ron and the rest of the team to go to bed.

The celebrations had been long and loud. Hermione barely had time to be thankful Fred and George were no longer at school, when the Common Room fireplace flared and the objects of her thoughts Flooed in. Arms laden with bags of Honeydukes goodies, and boxes of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, they claimed the party needed livening up, before promptly setting off the first of many rounds of their fireworks.

The students were wise enough to steer clear of the Canary Creams, but the Weasley twins had been rather busy since they left school and no one was spared. All night, people had been sprouting fur, feathers and extra appendages, much to the delight of the crowd. They all laughed along with one another, and even Hermione couldn't escape, accidentally eating a Chinese Misfortune Cookie. Everything she said for the next ten minutes sounded like babble to everyone else, although she thought afterwards Fred and George had inadvertently created the perfect solution to the Department of International Magical Cooperation's shortage of interpreters.

She closed the heavy oak doors of the Entrance Hall behind her, made her way across the courtyard, and sat on the low surrounding wall with a view across the lawns away to the Forbidden Forest.

The earlier storm had blown itself out and the night, though icy cold, was clear and calm.

_BANG!_

_Not calm_, she amended, looking around for the source of the noise. She sighed with relief when she realised it was only one of Fred and George's fireworks, still floating around the grounds after escaping from one of the windows of Gryffindor Tower.

She watched as it floated idly across the courtyard, spelling out _'Ravenclaw sucks'_ in bright blue letters. Fred and George certainly knew how to liven up a party, that was for sure. Professor Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw, wouldn't be too impressed if that firework was still proclaiming its message in the morning, but Hermione knew better than to attempt to vanish one of the Weasley's fireworks.

A movement near the edge of the Forbidden Forest caught her attention and she peered at a dark shape moving through the trees. She shivered, realising how late it was and how alone she was out in the castle grounds. Perhaps she should go inside.

She saw the movement again and this time the figure emerged from the trees. In the light of the half-eaten moon, she recognised the person as none other than Professor Snape, and breathed out a sigh of relief. That relief was almost immediately replaced with concern, though, as she wondered where he was coming from in the middle of the night. _Had he been summoned again?_

She was halfway toward him across the snow-covered grass before she even realised she'd moved at all. He was carrying a small package in one hand, and she was almost relieved to see the angry look in his face when he saw her coming across the grounds toward him.

"Miss Granger," he said through clenched teeth. "What in Merlin's name are you doing out here at this time of night?"

"Just clearing my head," she replied, and at his questioning glare, clarified, "I was on duty in the common room until the, uh, celebrations concluded."

"Ah, of course," he smirked. "Victorious yet again."

She studied him for a moment. He didn't appear to be injured, or on edge, like the last time he'd returned from Voldemort's side. Then again, he was good at disguising it. Last night she wouldn't have even known he was injured if Dumbledore hadn't enquired.

"What about you, sir?" she asked. "What brings you out in the cold at this time of night?"

He smirked at her roundabout enquiry, but conceded to answer nevertheless. "No, I was not summoned," he said, amused at her contrite expression. "If you insist on being so inquisitive, I was in the Forbidden Forest collecting these."

He unwrapped a corner of the package in his hands and held it up for her to examine. She peered at the contents, which looked vaguely like clumps of dirt. As she leaned closer, however, the smell told her otherwise.

"Animal droppings?" she questioned, screwing up her nose.

Snape rolled his eyes and moved so he was standing next to her rather than facing her. "Not just animal droppings," he said. "These are from a moonfilly."

The shadow his body had been casting over the package was gone, and the moonlight spilt across the exposed contents. She gasped as the dropping suddenly took on an ethereal glow, shining silver as thought they were reflecting the very moonlight cast upon them.

Moonfillies, she knew, were incredibly rare, and highly prized by Healers and Potions masters for the healing properties of their blood and hair. Aside from being notoriously hard to catch, their blood and hair could only be used if willingly given by the creature, and then only when harvested on the third night of the waxing moon. But droppings? _I hope they're not going into a potion_, she thought, grimacing.

"That's amazing," she finally said aloud, as he carefully rewrapped the droppings and tucked the package under his arm. "What are they used for?"

"Come, Miss Granger," he said, favouring her with a sarcastic look. "Don't tell me you haven't read all about the magical healing properties of the moonfilly?"

"I have, sir," she said quickly. "I just wasn't aware the animal dropping had any medicinal value."

"On the contrary, Miss Granger," he said, moving off toward the castle and beckoning her to walk with him. "The excrement of the moonfilly, while not the most potent of its contributions to medicinal magic, is the only one which can be taken without the consent of the creature. It is simply a matter of being able to collect them at the right time."

"There are moonfillies in the Forbidden Forest, then?" she concluded.

"Moonfilly," he corrected. "Just one."

"That's sad," she murmured. "Don't they live in herds?"

Snape shook his head. "The moonfilly is a solitary creature, seeking the company of its kind only to procreate once in a lifetime. I have an... understanding, if you will, with our resident donor. An adequate supply of droppings when I need them, in exchange for solitude, and a promise never to ask for the other gifts a moonfilly carries."

"Its blood or hair."

Snape nodded.

It was strange, Hermione mused, to think of Snape communicating with a shy, gentle creature of the Forest, and coming to an understanding with it. Perhaps the image was so foreign because she'd never been able to imagine him communicating with any person on an equal level. His was a persona of intimidation and domination; a persona from which most animals would shy.

Two nights ago, though, when they'd made the Wolfsbane Potions, and again in the past few minutes, now she thought about, he'd been speaking to her as an equal. Maybe this was the side of him the animal saw, and was drawn to, as she was. He, too, was a solitary creature. Perhaps it was the sort of understanding that passed only between kindred spirits.

They walked in silence back to the courtyard outside the Entrance Hall, until Hermione thought to ask, "What do you need the droppings for?"

Snape looked around, as he had the previous night, to ensure they were alone, before answering. "I believe it might be the key to an antidote for the potion."

He didn't need to elaborate for Hermione to know which potion. _The potion_. The one he was making for Voldemort.

"You've created a counter-potion?" she asked.

"This is the final ingredient," he replied. "Theoretically it works, but it will have to be tested. I have yet to discover the correct dosage."

"You have to _drink_ it!" she said incredulously.

He smirked at her. "It's only a bit of excrement, Miss Granger."

"Ugh," she said with a shudder. "I think I'd rather let the effects of the original potion wear off naturally."

He didn't respond and after a moment she looked over at him. His face was unreadable, as usual, but there was a tightness in his jaw that belied the sudden tension between them. Obviously the potion Voldemort was having him brew was a nasty mixture with horrid effects. She realised it was wrong to make such a generalised statement without knowing the effects of the original potion.

"What does the original potion do?" she asked quietly.

"Ah, I wondered how long it would take you to ask," he said shortly, "however this is not the time or the place to be discussing such matters. Perhaps you have an hour to spare tomorrow, and we can discuss arrangements for your new duties."

She sighed. The cold mask seemed to have slipped back into place, as it did each time she thought she was getting to know the dark Professor a little better.

"Yes, sir," she said. "How about straight after lunch?"

"That is acceptable," he said. "Until then, Miss Granger, I suggest you-"

_BANG!_

Hermione and Snape both jumped, startled, as the rogue firework floated into the courtyard again, still professing _'Ravenclaw sucks'_ in large blue letters. Snape raised an eyebrow at Hermione and she returned the look innocently.

"A product of the Messrs Weasley, I take it," Snape muttered, withdrawing his wand from his sleeve.

Hermione watched interestedly as the Potions master cast _evanesco_ at the slow-moving writing.

_BANG!_

She had to work very hard to keep a straight face when the firework changed from blue to green and proclaimed _'Slytherin sucks'_.

Snape cleared his throat irritably and attempted another, more complicated vanishing spell.

_BANG!_

Hermione couldn't hold back a giggle when the firework stated 'Slytherin really sucks'. 

"I am not amused, Miss Granger," he said in a biting voice, "however if you find it entertaining, perhaps you might like to try to rid us of its presence yourself."

Hermione knew it wouldn't work for her any more than it had for him, but she pulled out her wand and cast _evanesco_ at the glittering green letters anyway.

BANG! 

"If it's any consolation, sir," Hermione said, barely holding back her laughter, "last time this happened they were gone by morning."

Snape looked from Hermione to the firework. For a moment, she got the strangest impression he was about to laugh. Instead, he strode to the nearby castle door and opened it, beckoning her to follow him inside.

Once the door closed behind them, he said, "Until tomorrow, then," and disappeared in the direction of the dungeons.

Hermione made her way slowly to her own room, more confused with and yet curious about the Potions master than ever before. Once in the Head Girls rooms, she made a point of closing her curtains to block out the waning green glow of the firework, which was now floating higher around the castle, declaring _'Slytherin still sucks'_.

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**To be continued…**

_A/N: Anyone who is re-reading this story may notice a slight change in this chapter, concerning the magical creature Snape and Hermione discuss. The original creature, the mooncalf, appears in _ /i Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_ i , and while I took and expanded upon the uses of its dropping from there, I also failed to take into account the physical appearance of the creature as described by the author. I had already developed my own idea for the creature's appearance, and for that reason, decided to alter the name to one of my own creation, the moonfilly. I apologise for any confusion resulting from this re-work. All chapters have been fixed simultaneously, and are now consistent with my own ideas, as well as canon.  
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	8. Altercations

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

**Chapter 8**

All the Gryffindors slept late on Sunday morning, after the raucous celebrations of the previous night. Hermione was no exception, and eventually stumbled down to the Great Hall with Harry and Ron at half past eleven. She and Ron played a half-hearted game of chess while Harry looked on. Hermione had never been much of a strategist and within twenty minutes she was being so royally trounced the pieces had stopped following her directions.

Just after noon, other students started trickling into the Great Hall, along with most of the teachers. Snape nodded briefly to Hermione as he strode past the Gryffindor table, acknowledging he hadn't forgotten their appointment after lunch. She turned back to the chess board just as her king finally conceded defeat, dropping his sword with a loud _clang_.

"Next time, let _us_ make our own moves from the start, Missy," grumbled one of the black bishops lying on his side next to the board.

"Oh, shut it, you," she snapped, ignoring his cry of indignation as she tossed him back into the box with the other pieces.

"So, what are we going to do this afternoon?" Ron asked a while later. "The day's still young; lots of time for mischief."

"Well, I don't know about you," Hermione said, pouring a generous amount of custard over her pudding, "but I have to see Professor Snape after lunch, so you'll have to make mischief without me today."

"But 'Mione, it's Sunday!" Ron exclaimed.

"And?" she said testily.

"Well, honestly," he groused, "you're spending more time with that greasy bat lately than you are with _us_, your _friends_, remember?" He waved his hand crudely in front of her face.

Harry, sitting on the other side of the table next to Ron, was watching his plate, conspicuously foregoing the opportunity to ridicule the Potions master and for that, Hermione was glad. Harry still hated Snape with a passion, she knew, but this year he had finally ceased his constant barrage of abuse for the man, choosing instead to focus on his studies, and the approaching confrontation with his _true_ nemesis, Voldemort.

Hermione glared across the table at her red-haired friend, and hissed, "If you call him that one more time, mark my words, Ronald Weasley, you will have detention until you graduate."

"You w-"

"Yes, I would," she snapped, "until you find some common decency and respect for those doing their best to ensure we all have a safe world to live in, or hadn't you noticed there's a world beyond the Quidditch pitch?"

Ron's ears were going very pink as others in the Great Hall were turning interestedly to listen to the heated conversation.

"Of course I realise," he scoffed. "I just think if we're all going to die soon, who in their right mind would want to spend their last days shut up in a dungeon with Snape?"

_SMACK!_

Harry, who had stood up abruptly at Ron's words, was no longer beside the red-haired Weasley, who went sprawling to the ground, reeling from the force of Hermione's blow.

Picking himself up painfully from the stone floor, Ron found himself face to face with Harry, a cold anger burning in his eyes.

"Don't put much faith in your friends, do you?" he said softly, and then he turned to Hermione, who was still standing, hand raised, tears bright in her eyes on the other side of the table. "You know how I feel about Snape," he said to her, "but I can't deny he's on our side and we need him, so whatever you're doing down there, it's all right with me."

She smiled at him gratefully and he gave her a small one before he turned and left the Great Hall. Hermione watched him leave sadly. True, Ron's words had been directed at her, but they had hurt Harry just as much, if not more. The pressure on her green-eyed friend was immense; he'd once been the saviour of the wizarding world, and now that world was asking, no _demanding_, it of him again.

Hermione had spent summer and the early part of the school year trying to reach out to him, but he'd only retreated further into himself. Quidditch was the only time she's seen him truly happy in the last few months, and even after his spectacular victory the previous day, the spark in his eyes had already dimmed; his mind focusing on the grimness of reality.

And now to have his best friend show such little faith. Whether Ron meant it or not, it must have hurt.

Ron, for his part, was still standing stunned on the other side of the table, one hand over his burning cheek, watching Hermione in case she made a move to hit him again. She didn't, but the venom in her words stung just as much.

"How _could_ you?" she whispered, furiously blinking back tears, not for herself, but for Harry. She turned on her heel and walked out of the Great Hall as quickly as she could without actually running. She was late for her meeting with Snape; torn between chasing after Harry and irritating the Potions master by being even later still.

Ron must have realised if he didn't act now, he'd never make it up to either of his best friends, and a moment later he caught Hermione's arm just as she reached the door.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I didn't mean-"

"It's not me you should be apologising to," she cut in coldly. She wasn't giving in that easily. Ron always had an annoying habit of pretending everything was all right when it wasn't, and now was no exception.

"If Harry has the heart to speak to you, maybe I'll consider it, too." With that, she yanked her arm away from his grasp and pushed through the door out into the Entrance Hall.

He wasn't stupid enough to follow her again.

Hermione realised she was shaking as she made her way down the dungeon stairs to the Potions classroom. Whether it was from anger, hurt or a combination of both, she couldn't determine. She knew Ron could be a royal prat sometimes, but never had he said something so callously thoughtless.

She wiped at the tears on her face as she hurried down the corridor. It wouldn't do for Snape to know she'd been crying. _Not that he would care,_ she thought. He'd be more likely to mock the dissention in the ranks of the close-knit trio.

She was so lost in thought she didn't see the dark bulky form of Gregory Goyle until she walked into him.

"Sorry-" she started to say, not registering who she'd collided with.

"Watch yourself, Mudblood," he spat, and made a show of brushing off his robes as though she'd soiled them.

"Watch your language, Goyle," she retorted, drawing herself up. Six years of the insult had toughened her skin. "You might find yourself disembowelling horned toads for a week."

As Head Girl, she didn't have the power to take House points, or hand out detentions herself, but a word to one of the Professor's was all it took.

Usually, the threat was enough to make the cowardly Slytherin back off, but not this time. Hermione realised, too late, she had made the mistake of threatening him in a deserted corridor of his own territory.

She only had time to utter a muffled squeak of surprise as he grabbed her and shoved her hard, face first, against the wall. Her cheek scraped on the rough stones of the dungeon wall as one of his hands closed over her mouth, the other gripping her wrists painfully behind her back.

"Now," he said softly, "if I remove my hand, do you promise not to scream?" He chuckled. "Not that anyone would hear you, anyway."

She struggled, panicking, and he yanked her arms down, sending a sharp pain through her shoulder. Tears were flowing freely down her face, and she searched wildly for any sign of other students in the corridor; there was none.

"Now, let's see," he whispered, his breath hot on her ear, "what could a filthy little Gryffindor be doing down here, alone, in the dungeons, on a lovely day such as this?"

She tried to kick him, but somehow he'd managed to pin her legs with one of his own. She was trapped.

"Know what I think?" he leered, twisting her face around to his own. "I think you're down here looking for _Snape_."

She stared at him in confusion, but he laughed again.

"I've seen you coming down here," he continued, stroking her cheek with his thumb while still keeping his palm clamped firmly over her mouth. "You'd try _anything_ to stay top of the class, wouldn't you? Well, I've got news for you, _Head_ Girl," he whispered. "Snape's as pureblood as they come. He wouldn't put a finger on a filthy Mudblood whore like you."

Goyle twisted her around to face him and pushed himself hard up against her, pinning her between his body and the wall.

"Me, on the other hand," he leered. "I'm not as picky as ol' Snape. I don't care who gives it to me as long as I get it."

Her eyes widened in horror as she realised the implication of his words and, at the same time, felt something hard pressing into her stomach.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate on her magic. As a child, before she'd discovered what her 'strange powers' really were, she'd been able to bring forth a flare of magic whenever she'd been terribly angry or afraid. Now though, after learning to control her magic and channel it through her wand, her wild magic wouldn't come. She had no hope of reaching her wand, so she was left to fend for herself, helpless.

_Oh, god,_ she thought. _Please, somebody_ -anybody -_ find us._

She thought frantically for anything she could do to stop him. His hand was still clamped tightly over her mouth, and with sudden inspiration she twisted her head, taking him by surprise, and bit him.

"Owwww!" he yelled, pulling his hand away as she pushed against him and they both lurch away from the wall, out into the open corridor again. "Bloody bitch!"

Terrified of what he would do now angered, she turned to run and collided blindly with another dark figure.

"Leave me alone!" she yelled, stumbling as she backed away. A hand closed around her arm, preventing her from falling completely, and she looked up at the figure for the first time.

"Professor Snape!"

The Potions master released Hermione once she had regained her balance, and surveyed the scene with a calculating glare. Goyle had stopped advancing on Hermione again, and was clutching his hand where she bit him, obviously in pain.

"Mr Goyle," Snape said coldly. "Explain."

"The bloody Mudblood bit me, sir!" he exclaimed.

Hermione made to interject, but Snape silenced her with a single glance. "And why would our Head Girl exhibit such _uncouth_ behaviour?" he enquired dangerously.

"She ran into me," Goyle continued, looking at Hermione contemptuously as if daring her to contradict him. "She fell and when I went to help her up, she just grabbed my hand in her teeth!"

"Really?" Snape said, looking very hard at the Slytherin. "Well, let's see, then... Miss Granger, twenty points from Gryffindor for fighting like a common _Muggle_."

Hermione looked at Snape in disbelief, but he seemed oblivious to her incredulity. Couldn't he _see_ the fingermarks on her face? Goyle smirked at her.

"Mr Goyle, twenty points from Slytherin," Snape continued, and the grin vanished from the student's face. "I have warned you against using _that_ word outside the Common Room, which is where you will now return."

"Yes, sir," Goyle mumbled, and he lumbered past Snape, who turned around to watch the Slytherin until he disappeared through a hidden doorway further along the corridor.

Snape turned back to Hermione. "Follow me," he said stiffly.

She followed him miserably in the opposite direction down the corridor, sniffling and clutching her painfully wrenched right arm to her side. He strode quickly ahead of her, unmindful of her obvious grief and uncaring of what Goyle had been about to do.

_What did you expect him to do, Granger?_ she thought bitterly. _Rush in and defend you from the wayward son of a Death Eater?_

No, she knew that would never happen. She'd be no better off for it, and he'd be dead at Voldemort's next summons. Nevertheless, he could have at least conceded the seriousness of the scene he'd happened upon. He _must_ have seen what Goyle was trying to do to her.

"Sir-" she started say, but he rounded on her angrily.

"_Silence_, Miss Granger," he snarled. "Whatever you have to say is extraneous to the dilemma you find yourself in, so I suggest you avoid further implicating yourself and keep your mouth closed." He grasped her by the elbow and fairly dragged her along the corridor.

Surely he wasn't blind enough not to realise what had been about to happen? Of course, he did have a blind spot where the Slytherins were concerned. He always had, and although she now recognised the reasons behind his favouritism, she never imagined it would go as far as him ignoring an attempted assault on another student.

They reached Snape's office and he pushed her unceremoniously ahead of him, slamming the door in their wake.

Out in the corridor, two more shadowy shapes materialised from hidden alcoves in the dark stone walls.

* * *

**To be continued…**

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	9. Behind Closed Doors

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter 9**

As soon as the door to Snape's office closed behind them, he dropped any pretence and guided her gently by her unhurt shoulder to sit in front of his desk.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded. The change in demeanour took Hermione by surprise, though she'd been hoping for it all along, and she stumbled over her words.

"Yes– no, I- he didn't," she faltered, and bowed her head as her eyes inadvertently filled with tears again.

She felt rather than saw him step away from her, and heard him moving around the room behind her. There was the clink of glass on glass, and a moment later she felt a vial being pressed into her hand.

"Calming Draught," he stated simply, as he conjured a second chair with a wave of his wand and sat in front of her, their knees almost touching.

She downed the pale liquid in a gulp and almost instantly felt her body relax, though her mind was still racing from the confrontation.

"I'm okay," she said, wiping her eyes and feeling the scratches on her cheek where it had chafed against the wall. He took her chin in one hand and tilted her face to the light so he could inspect the damage himself, before a murmured _accio_ brought a jar of healing salve from across the room.

"Would you prefer to do this, or shall I?" he asked, about to dip his fingers into the jar. She nodded for him to continue and he spread a liberal amount of the salve carefully across her cheek. She closed her eyes, concentrating on taking even breaths as she felt the slight roughness of his fingertips through the coolness of the balm.

A minute or so later, the scratches were gone. She opened her eyes and watched him put the lid on the jar and banish it back to it's place on a shelf.

"Now, let's see about that arm," he said, gesturing for her to hold out the injured appendage. She did so with difficulty, wincing as he manoeuvred the limb up level with her shoulder.

"I think you made it worse dragging me down here," she commented.

"It appears to be just a strain," he countered, giving her a dark look, "but shall I call Madam Pomfrey to look at it?" he asked, and she shook her head vigorously. Involving anyone else would mean telling them what happened, and Snape would be forced to punish Goyle more severely; in turn, possibly imposing a punishment from Voldemort on himself. It was selflessly Gryffindor reasoning, but she was quickly learning the value of discretion.

"It will heal itself, of course, however there is a charm which will fix it immediately. Have you learnt it in your Medicinal Magic classes?"

She shook her head.

"Well in that case, you should visit the Mediwitch later today. There's no sense being in unnecessary discomfort."

She nodded uncertainly. She didn't want to explain to Madam Pomfrey how she'd received the injury. She could, of course, make up a convincing lie, although Quidditch was out of the question. It was common knowledge among the teachers that Hermione Granger and a broomstick was a combination no less hazardous than Gilderoy Lockhart and a room full of pixies. Perhaps she could tell the matron she'd strained her shoulder carrying too many books in her satchel. Now _that_ was a believable lie. Still, it would be easier if she didn't have to lie at all.

"Do you know the charm, sir? Can you teach me?"

"Yes, I know it," he replied, "and no, I won't teach it to you."

She opened her mouth to ask why, but he anticipated her question.

"It wouldn't be appropriate," he said stiffly, and cleared his throat. "Besides, it is best you learn from a qualified instructor. Healing spells are not to be trifled with and personal experience is no match for a Mediwitch."

She nodded again and he sat back to regard her with a contemplative expression before continuing. "I apologise if my actions compounded your injury, but I acted for the benefit of the other two Slytherins in the corridor at the time."

She looked at him, startled. "There were more? But I didn't see…"

"Please, Miss Granger," he said, "credit them with some intelligence. Mr Goyle may not have your brains or the subtlety of Mr Malfoy, but he wouldn't be fool enough to attack the Head Girl alone, even in his own territory."

"So you _don't_ believe his version of events?"

"Hardly," Snape said derisively. "Given your injury and emotional state, I'd not have believed him even if I hadn't witnessed some of it for myself."

"How much did you hear?" she asked. A furious blush rose in her cheeks as she thought of Goyle's leering comment about her and the Potions master.

"I said I witnessed, not heard," he corrected. "By the time I was within hearing range, you'd managed to free yourself from his grasp."

"Oh," she replied, sinking back into her chair with relief.

"Well?"

She must have look confused because he rolled his eyes and elaborated. "Are you going to enlighten me with what he said to upset you so?"

The blush rose in her cheeks again and she looked away. "Oh, um," she faltered. "It's nothing. It doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter," he insisted, leaning forward and gripping the armrests on her chair, giving her no choice but to look at him.

"Miss Granger, if he threatened you we need to know. It is one thing for me to turn a blind eye to his crude actions, but I cannot justify ignoring threats made to a Muggleborn student by the son of a Death Eater. If anything were to happen, Dumbledore would have my head before the Dark Lord could get summon me to take it himself."

She sighed, trying to avoid his gaze. "It wasn't a threat, per se," she admitted. "It was the insinuation he made that bothered me most of all."

"What insinuation?"

"It doesn't matter because there's no truth in it," she said hurriedly, and seeing his look added, "besides, it wasn't Goyle who upset me in the first place. I was already on edge before I ran into him." She didn't really want Snape to know the details of the argument with her friends, but perhaps he would drop the subject if he thought the altercation wasn't the sole cause of her distress.

"What insinuation?" he repeated, obviously not deterred. "You know I can find out if I have to, Miss Granger. Do not make me do this the hard way."

_Legilimency_, she thought. She had backed herself into a corner, though at least if she explained it now, she supposed she could gloss over it a little. Anything was preferable to him ferreting around in her mind for the details.

She sighed and conceded. "He said they'd seen me down here a little too often lately, and I must be desperate to remain top of the class."

She stared at her hands as Snape pushed himself away from her and stood. When she looked up again, he was facing the bookshelf. In profile, she could see the lines creasing his forehead. He looked furious.

"Is that all he said?" The voice was one of barely-concealed anger.

She bit her lip.

"Well?" he said again, and Hermione's eyes widened as he withdrew his wand from an unseen pocket.

"Wait." She panicked. "I'll tell you. I just... it was humiliating enough having to hear it once, without being forced to relive it again."

After a moment of deliberation, he seemed to relent, and he put his wand down on his desk and strode across the room to a small cupboard next to the bookshelves. She watched with apprehension as he withdrew a Pensive, slightly smaller and made of darker stone than the Headmaster's.

"Perhaps this would be easier," he said, placing it on the desk in front of her. "If anyone else needs to see it, you won't have to go through it again."

She nodded gratefully, but hesitated. "Sir, how do I... I've never done this before."

He picked up his wand again and motioned for her to stand and move closer to the desk.

"Allow me," he said, placing the tip of his dark-wooded wand to her temple. She couldn't be sure whether she imagined the small spark of magic when it first made contact with her skin.

"Think of the memory you wish for me to extract," he intoned.

Closing her eyes, she thought back to lunchtime, and the reason she'd been running late for the meeting at all. Not wanting him to see the words exchanged between Harry and Ron, she hastily though of the dark dungeon corridor and subsequent exchange with the Slytherin student. She wondered briefly if Snape, upon viewing the memory, would be able to feel her relief at his appearance, or the disconcerting jolt of her stomach when he had healed her cheek...

_Wait a minute_! she thought frantically, _he doesn't need to see that! The memory can end when he appears in the corridor!_

She opened her eyes and tried to pull away, but it seemed as though Snape's wandtip was fixed to her temple. Seeing her movement, he muttered an indiscernible incantation and she watched as he withdrew his wand, bringing a long grey strand of memory away from her temple with it. The sensation was incredibly strange, like a little worm was tickling her head, inside and out. It ended a moment later as the strand broke and Snape siphoned it into the stone bowl.

Hermione sat down quickly as a wave of dizziness hit her. "That felt _odd_," she murmured, putting her head in her hands.

"It is a strange sensation," he agreed. "It becomes easier with practice, as does the separation of only what thoughts are needed from the rest of your memories. The dizziness is a common side effect of first-time extraction. It should pass momentarily."

She exhaled an unsteady breath and raised her head gingerly. It wasn't completely gone, but she felt better.

"I will return momentarily," Snape said, and without waiting for a response, plunged his head into Hermione's memories.

Hermione watched the Potions master for a few minutes. It was the strangest feeling, waiting for him while he sat, motionless, with his head in a stone bowl. It certainly would have made an odd tableau, she thought, if anyone else had entered his office at the time.

She took the opportunity to study the man in front of her; what she could see, anyway. Resting lightly on the desk either side of the Pensive, his hands looked thin but strong. As pale as the rest of his exposed skin, Hermione could see the veins running under the surface. She'd never considered a particular body part could be beautiful, but there was something about his hands that captivated her. She could watch him preparing potions for hours, the precision and coordination of his hands as he chopped, sliced, mashed and stirred.

In plunging his head into the bowl, Snape's dark hair had splayed forwards and a few strands were haphazardly hanging over the edge of the Pensive. It _was_ greasy, but not overtly so, she thought. Certainly not greasy enough to have earned him the cruel nickname students used behind his back.

His hair had parted at the base of his skull, and Hermione stared at his exposed neck peeking from above the high-collared shirt and coat. She had a sudden compulsion to reach out and touch the pale skin, and fleeting wondered if one could feel touches to their physical being whilst their mind was in a Pensive.

Shaking her head, she wondered what had come over her. The Calming Draught couldn't possibly have relaxed her _that_ much. Perhaps her overwrought emotions were playing tricks on her mind.

She couldn't help but think how kind he'd been to her this afternoon. He hadn't sneered or ridiculed her once since they had entered his office. He'd understood her distress and kept her calm, even if it was via a potion. The most surprising thing, she realised with a start, was that none of his actions had seemed awkward or uncomfortable for either of them. He'd sat with her to talk, instead of towering over her in his usual dominating fashion. He'd healed her face and been nothing but sincere in his concern for her.

If _this_ was the Professor Snape that Slytherin students saw, it was no wonder they had so much respect for their Head of House.

Hermione thought back to her last few encounters with the Potions master. She _had_ been seeing a different side of him, even since the night he had instructed her on making the Wolfsbane. Then, after the Quidditch match last night, she'd had the distinct impression he was holding back laughter over the fireworks, even if they were insulting him.

And today? She felt like she was seeing the real Severus Snape for the first time; complete, open and nothing held back. There was no apathetic façade hiding what he really felt, and Hermione would have never have guessed the cold, black eyes could show so much feeling in their depths. She'd seen anger in those eyes before, but never anything akin to compassion.

She knew he would still treat her the same in class. He had no choice. But she found herself fervently hoping he had resolved to trust her and forgo his normal pretence when they were alone.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the Potions master unexpectedly withdrew from the Pensive. If he had been angry before, it was nothing compared to the look on his face now.

"That little... _shit_," he finally muttered through clenched teeth. "How dare he suggest that I would..."

Snape stood and began pacing back and forth behind the desk. "I'm not sure what galls me more," he said in a low voice. "The insinuation that I would do such a thing with _any_ student, or the idea that blood purity would sway my decision."

"Wouldn't it?" she asked. "With a woman, I mean, not a student," she added quickly.

"No," he said, and she recoiled at the forcefulness of his tone. He came around the front of the desk and sat facing her again. There was a resigned, pensive look on his face as he started speaking.

"I was brought up to believe in the sanctity of pure blood. I had it drilled into me from a very young age that to pollute the bloodlines of my family name with Muggle blood was not only a crime, but one punishable by death."

He nodded at Hermione's horrified look.

"Coming to Hogwarts was something of a revelation for me. On one side, my fellow Slytherins were reinforcing that which had been preached to me throughout my childhood, and on the other, Muggle-born students were proving them wrong by academically bettering us all."

"You already know I didn't join the Dark Lord because I believed in what he was trying to do." She nodded grimly, thinking back to the scenes in Dumbledore's Pensive, and Snape went on. "I joined out of a lust for power and revenge, and I'll be the first to admit they were all the wrong reasons for making such a life-altering decision. I was young, naïve and blinded by false promises of vengeance against anyone who had wronged me, but I _never_ believed purity of blood set one witch or wizard above another."

Hermione stared her professor, stunned into silence by the sincerity of his words. Thinking back, she realised he was speaking truthfully. For all the times he had insulted her, he had never mentioned her heritage. His students were mocked for being Gryffindors or abysmal students, pureblood or not.

She become conscious of him watching her, waiting for her reaction. She gave him a small, hesitant smile.

"I guess it's like that Muggle saying," she said lightly. "You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family." Losing her smile, she continued seriously, "It's good to know you don't hold something against me which is out of my control, even if others do."

"And it's those others you need to be careful of," he countered. "Slytherins do not like feeling threatened."

"Threatened?" Her brow furrowed in confusion and Snape rolled his eyes.

"Don't you see, Hermione?" he implored. "You, the brightest witch of your generation, are Muggleborn. There isn't a trace of magic in your family, not one iota. You disprove everything the Dark Lord stands for, and being Potter's friend only makes you all the more valuable target."

"Oh," was all she managed to say. She was shaken by the realisation of just how vulnerable she was. Since her first year, she'd recognised being Harry's friend could put her in danger. She'd never consider her own self, who she was, would also be a threat. Goyle had proven today that she wasn't safe, even within the protected walls of Hogwarts. She exhaled a breath and looked up at Snape.

"I didn't realise it was that serious," she admitted, "but I'm not going to hide away until the threat has passed."

"No one would expect you to," he replied with a smirk, not unkindly. She could hear the hidden _you're a Gryffindor_ jest in his words, but for the first time, it didn't bother her.

"You just need to be on your guard," he cautioned. "Do not come down here unaccompanied, even if that means having Potter or Weasley escort you. I assure you Mr Goyle will not try such a thing again, but that does not mean others won't attempt to succeed where he failed."

Hermione shivered.

"I think that is enough excitement for one afternoon," Snape declared, standing up. "You should have Madam Pomfrey look at your arm as soon as possible."

"What about the arrangements for my work?" she asked, suddenly remembering the original purpose of their meeting.

"I think under the circumstances we can discuss that next time we meet," he replied. "Come, I will escort you up to the Entrance Hall."

She followed him across the room. There would be no further discussion once they were outside his office, and Snape was reaching for the door when she spoke.

"Sir?"

He turned back to her.

"I just wanted to say thank you," she said, "for being there in the corridor, and helping and... well... just, everything. Thank you."

He considered her for a moment, before simply nodding.

No words passed between them as he led her upstairs. She had to walk quickly to keep up with his lengthy strides, and the irritation in his demeanour would have told anyone who saw them she was not in her teacher's favour.

A handful of students were milling around in the Entrance Hall but most made themselves scarce at the sight of the Potions master. Hermione thought to thank him again, but he silenced her with a glare.

"Detention, Miss Granger," he said silkily. "Tuesday, after dinner; and do not let me catch you in that part of the dungeons again."

"Yes, Professor," she murmured, trying to look contrite for the benefit of the remaining students, who were watching the exchange interestedly. It wasn't every day the Head Girl received detention.

A swirl of black robes later and the Potions master was gone. Hermione headed upstairs, deliberating between finding Harry and going to the Hospital Wing. Her arm was hurting more than she had let on to Snape, so she decided to make a quick detour to the Hospital Wing first. Hopefully Madam Pomfrey would heal the injury, scold her for 'carrying too many books' and send her on her way.

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**To be continued...**

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed!_

_This story can also be found at the Online Wizarding Library – owl dot tauri dot org – the next chapter is already up there :)_


	10. Resolutions

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter 10**

The Hospital Wing was deserted when Hermione stepped quietly through the double doors On closer inspection, she found Madam Pomfrey in her office, taking inventory of the medicinal potions cabinet, a parchment and quill poised in the air next to her recording her murmured notes.

Hermione knocked lightly on the wooden doorframe and the Mediwitch, upon seeing the Head Girl, signalled silently for her to wait a moment. She finished cataloguing the last few bottles of the cupboard, and tapped the hovering parchment lightly with her wand, muttering '_finite tabula_'. Quill and parchment inanimate on her desk, she turned to Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger," she said briskly. "What can I do for you?"

"I seem to have hurt my shoulder," Hermione said wryly. "I think I may have been trying to carry too many books in my bag."

The Mediwitch tutted her disapproval and ushered Hermione out of her office and over to the nearest bed, drawing the curtain to shield them from the door. Taking Hermione's arm gently in one hand, she manoeuvred the appendage in much the same way Snape had done earlier, and also reached the same conclusion.

"Just a strain, my dear," she said. "Easily fixed."

Hermione didn't move.

"Well, come on, Miss Granger," she huffed impatiently. "Off with it. Can't expect me to heal it through all those layers, can you?"

Hermione blushed, realising why Snape had seemed vaguely uncomfortable when she'd asked him to demonstrate the charm on her. She removed her cloak, jumper and, with the Mediwitch's help, managed to extract the offending arm from her blouse sleeve.

Hermione watched interestedly as the Mediwitch pulled out her wand, but instead of directing it at her shoulder, Madam Pomfrey placed the tip to her own hand and incanted, '_curare tendére_', then switching wand hands, repeated the spell on the other.

"Turn around," the Mediwitch instructed, and a moment later Hermione felt cool, bony hands carefully massaging the sore joint of her shoulder. She was surprised to feel the pain in her muscles receding with each prod of the Mediwitch's cold hands.

"That's an unusual spell," she commented. "I've never heard of one where the magic is focused on the caster rather than the receiver."

"It's actually quite common in the lesser Healing spells," Madam Pomfrey told her, taking her arm and twisting it in various directions again. Satisfied that there was no pain, she helped Hermione back into her shirt while continuing her lecture. "It's a lot more comfortable for the patient to be healed by one's hands than a hard wandtip. You'll be learning such spells later this year, although it takes a lot out of the healer. The spell I cast at the beginning merely directs the caster's magical energy to their hands; a very high level of concentration is required to channel ones magical powers out through anything but a wand."

Hermione was fascinated. "I'll look forward to trying it," she said. "I'll be sorry to miss the rest your Medicinal Potions classes; they're sure to be just as interesting. Did Professor Dumbledore speak to you about the new arrangement?"

"He did," the Mediwitch said, bustling back into her office. "I must say it's a shame to lose you for even half my classes, but I don't doubt your capability to complete your alternative assignment. Professor Snape has always supplied me with exemplary potions, and I have every confidence you will do the same."

Hermione followed her into the cluttered room and Madam Pomfrey handed her the scroll she had charmed to catalogue the cupboard earlier.

"What's this?"

"An inventory of the current medicinal potions supplies," Madam Pomfrey replied. "Current stock on hand, projected requirements for the next six months based on the previous six months' usage and dates by which I will need replenishments of the perishable potions."

Hermione unravelled the scroll and looked down at the list. It was _huge_.

"Wow," she murmured. "I didn't realise the school went through so many supplies. Does Professor Snape usually make all of these?"

"He does indeed," the Mediwtich affirmed. "It was a stroke of luck Dumbledore hired a Potions master still willing to do the menial tasks most delegate to their apprentices. Ordering some of these by Owl Post used to be an absolute nightmare."

"The last teacher didn't make them?" Hermione asked interestedly. It seemed absurd to have to order potions from outside a school that _taught_ the art of potions making.

"No," she replied. "Pompous old so-and-so was adamant all his time outside the classroom should be spent on his research, which wasn't worth the trouble, if you ask me. Couldn't hold a candle to young Professor Snape's achievements in the field, and _he_ has still managed to stock my infirmary for nigh twenty years."

Hermione had never thought much about her teachers' academic achievements, although she supposed now it was naïve to think their contributions to their chosen fields stopped in the classroom. She knew from discussion with her own Head of House that the Transfiguration teacher had played a significant role in the introduction of new Animagi laws, and warding spells to detect the presence of a witch or wizard in disguise. It would make sense that Snape, the only fully qualified Master of all the teachers, had made noteworthy contributions to the field of Potions. She made a mental note to ask him about it, if he was in a conversational mood on Tuesday; and if not, she would do a little extra research in the library.

The Mediwitch was still speaking. "Although I must say, I'm glad he's finally decided to take on an apprentice. I couldn't think of a student more deserving of the position than yourself."

"Oh, uh, I'm not an apprentice," Hermione corrected hurriedly. "More of an assistant, I suppose."

"You call it whatever you like, Miss Granger," the older witch said with a knowing smile. "I wager you'll learn more from Severus in a week than in all your years of Potions classes. He doesn't have much patience for teaching those who don't want to learn."

_You can tell, too,_ Hermione had the urge to say aloud. It would be frustrating, though, teaching students who were only in a class because they had to be. If Potions was an elective subject, the teacher would take pride in cultivating the talent of the students who had a genuine desire to be there. _Then again, his reputation precedes him,_ she thought. _If Potions was an elective class, there probably wouldn't_ be _a class._

She said nothing of this to the Mediwitch. Instead she thanked her for healing her shoulder and tucked the list in a pocket of her robes. She informed the Mediwitch she was meeting with the Potions master on Tuesday afternoon, and would start work on the supplies as soon as possible.

_Now to the next dilemma,_ she thought, leaving the Hospital Wing. She had no idea where Harry might be, or whether in the time she'd spent in Snape's office, he and Ron had already talked and resolved the situation.

She checked Gryffindor Tower first. Neither were there, but Neville and Seamus, who were having a half-hearted game of chess, had been there earlier when Harry had stormed up to the boys' dormitory, and stormed out again, broom in hand.

She headed out the deserted Quidditch Pitch, spying a lone figure circling the stadium high above the ground. Climbing to the top row of the stands, she sat and watched for a while, until Harry finally spotted her and came down, hopping easily off his Firebolt as the tail skimmed the seats.

He sat down next to her and they both stared into the distance for a while before she spoke.

"He didn't mean it, you know."

"Oh, I get it," Harry sneered. "You've already talked to him and now he's sent you out here to make his peace for him."

"No," Hermione said firmly. "I _haven't_ talked to Ron. I told him after you left the Great Hall he needn't bother talking to me until he's apologised to you first."

"What, you think apologising is going to make it all better?" he spat bitterly. "It's not the first time he's said something like this, and you can be sure it's won't be the last."

People on the outer might see Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived, confident young man and star Quidditch player, but Hermione knew how little faith he had in himself, especially lately. Ever since Sirius' death eighteen months earlier, Harry had been loathe to trust his own instincts, or rely on his own skill and ability as a wizard. His overconfidence had cost his godfather his life, and he wouldn't fail any more of his friends.

Ron's comment would have hurt at any time, but now, when Harry had so little confidence in himself already, it was like a stab in the back from one of the two people who had _always_ believed in him, and _always_ stood by him no matter what.

Hermione sighed, searching for the right words. "Ron just... he says these things in the heat of the moment. He doesn't think before he opens his mouth... and I know that's no excuse," she added hurriedly as Harry opened his mouth to retort. "He just doesn't think about how his words will affect others. It was directed at me; he didn't mean to insult you."

"I know that," Harry said quietly. "I just... I feel like he's _jealous_ sometimes, that I'm the one who gets all the attention, that I'm the one who is going to either defeat Voldemort or become a dead martyr in the process-"

"Don't say that."

"-I'm the one who is supposed to save the whole bloody world," he said, sounding almost hysterical. "He doesn't realise I hate all of this. I hate being the centre of attention, I hate having these expectations on my shoulders. Sometimes I feel like I just want to walk away, disappear in the middle of the night and never return... but I can't, because the prophecy says it has to be me who strikes the final blow."

Harry broke off and ran his hands through his hair before turning to Hermione.

"What if he's right, Hermione?" he said, his green eyes pleading for her to answer. "What if I _can't_ defeat him? What if Voldemort wins?"

"He won't," she said firmly. "Ron was just being an idiot when he said that."

"He's not the only one, though," Harry said. "I've seen the way people watch me when they think I'm not looking. I heard the Order talking about me over the summer, about whether I can defeat him or not. D'you know what they said, what _Dumbledore_ said?"

Hermione shook her head.

"'_He has to'_. Not, 'he _will_' or 'he _can_'. If Dumbledore doesn't believe I can do it, how can I believe it myself?"

Hermione's heart went out to her friend, and she searched the corners of her mind for words to comfort and reassure him. She'd had the same doubts herself, after the last two confrontations Harry had with Voldemort, but she put it down to fear and uncertainty, and now certainly wasn't the time to confess her worries. Now was the time for a show of faith, however blind it may be.

"Harry," she said, turning to him and taking his Quidditch-gloved hands in her own. "I don't think it's a lack of faith in you and in your ability. I think after Voldemort was defeated for the first time and then returned, people are afraid to do anything but assume the worst. It's not that they don't think you can do it, they just don't dare hope you will."

Harry nodded, but she could see he wasn't totally convinced.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?" she asked gently. "Dumbledore? I'm sure he'd be upset at how you've misinterpreted his words to such a bad end."

Harry snorted. "How can you _not_ misinterpret what he says? He speaks nothing but riddles and half-truths as it is."

Hermione bit her lip. She knew Harry had never quite forgiven Dumbledore for all the information he kept from the young man up until the end of their fifth year; only divulging it when his silence had already cost a life. They'd been spending a lot of time together lately, though. Harry was often seen entering the Headmaster's office during free lessons or study time. She thought that had been getting on well, and she said as much.

"Hardly," Harry scorned. "How can I trust anything he teaches me when he never, even now, gives me the whole truth. I just feel like I'm being manipulated into doing exactly what he wants, regardless of how I feel about it."

"You're not the only one," Hermione muttered, thinking of herself and Snape. They'd certainly been manipulated, although she liked to think it was for the better, so far.

"What?"

"Oh, this thing I'm doing with Professor Snape," she explained. "It was Dumbledore's idea we work together... or his _orders_, I should say."

"Did he tell you why he wanted you to work together?"

She shook her head.

"See!" Harry exclaimed. "That's exactly what I mean. It's like we're all just pawns on his chessboard, and only he knows the next move. It's not _right_. He expects me just to fight when required, without knowing how or why I'm doing it."

"I really think you should discuss this with him, Harry," Hermione said gravely. "The two of you are the most important people in the war, and you can't work together without trust. Just tell him how you feel. He'll understand."

"Don't count on it," Harry muttered darkly.

"Just _try_," she insisted, "and if that doesn't work... maybe you could go to someone else."

"Who?"

"Professor Snape," she suggested evenly.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said. "Just because you get along with Snape doesn't mean I've suddenly decided to like him. He's still a nasty piece of work, as far as I'm concerned."

"I'm not asking you to like him," she assured her friend. "I just... you've got more in common than you think. He knows what it's like to be manipulated by Dumbledore. You can trust him."

"Can I?" Harry said sarcastically. "That's another think Dumbledore won't tell me; why he _knows_ beyond any doubt that Snape is on our side. If I had all the facts, maybe I could trust the git myself."

Hermione wasn't about to divulge what she knew about Snape's true loyalties, or the fact that Dumbledore had told her while still keeping the information from her friend.

"Harry, do you trust _me_?"

He looked at her, startled. "Of course I do!"

"Then believe me when I say Snape is truly on our side," she implored. "Don't ask me why, or how I know. I just _do_. If Dumbledore won't listen, then talk to Professor Snape. You don't have to like him; I know he doesn't like you," she said with a wry smile which Harry returned, "but you can trust him, okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'll think about it. Thanks for listening. I guess I just needed someone to listen while I blew off steam."

"Anytime," she said, giving his hands another squeeze.

They both sat in silence again, watching as the last of the weak winter sunlight peeked through a gap in the clouds near the horizon. She shivered, wishing she, too, had thought to wear gloves.

"Come on," she said, standing up. "Let's go inside and talk to Ron."

Harry scowled and said, "Let him come and talk to me. He started it."

Hermione almost laughed at Harry's tone. He sounded like a petulant child. "Don't be so petty," she scolded. "He's probably scared to come near you in case you hex him."

At the look on Harry's face, she added, "I was _joking_."

"No need to go inside, anyway," sighed Harry, pointing down the pitch below. In the dull haze of dusk, she could just make out the lone figure of Ron, gazing hesitantly up at their position in the stands.

"Let's go down there," she said, pulling a reluctant Harry after her.

They met Ron in the shadows of the stands, fidgeting uncertainly as he tried to gauge their reactions. Harry plonked down on one of the hard wooden benches near the entrance to the change rooms, and Hermione and Ron followed suit.

"Look-"

"Harry, I-"

"Let's-"

All three of them broke off and laughed nervously.

"Let me go first," Ron said, and Harry sat back, feigning disinterest.

"There's no excuse for what I said at lunch, but I'm really sorry. I was being a prat to you, Hermione, and in doing so I inadvertently hurt you as well, Harry."

"Yeah, you did," Harry said roughly. Ron looked crestfallen.

"I guess I just feel a bit useless," he continued, "and being spiteful is my way of dealing with it."

"It's a pretty poor way," Hermione murmured.

"I know," Ron replied earnestly. "It's just that... everyone seems to be doing something towards the war. Everyone except me. Mum and Dad and my brothers are all in the Order, Harry's the cornerstone of the whole mission and Hermione, I don't know what you're doing with Snape, but I can't imagine it _wouldn't_ have something to do with the war, right?"

She nodded.

"And no one can _tell_ me what they're doing, either," he said bitterly. "I just feel like I'm being kept in the dark, and because if it, I can't do anything to help."

"So you'd rather play an important role in the war," Harry asked lightly. "You'd rather be the one who has to kill Voldemort or be killed yourself?"

"No!" said Ron, horrified. "That's not what I meant, Harry, and you know it. I'm not jealous of what you have to do. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes for anything. I just want to be able to _help_ you when the time comes, and right now I don't feel like I'll be able to do that."

"You want to help, but you don't exactly seem interested in anything serious," Harry said, exasperated. "It's all Quidditch this and Quidditch that. I love it too, but there are more important things to think about these days."

"I don't discuss the war with you because I figure you get enough of that from everyone else," Ron replied. "I thought you'd just want to talk about something normal; forget the war, even if it's just for few minutes while you argue with me over who's going to win the Premiers Cup this year."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. Hermione could hear the sincerity in Ron's words and knew he wasn't just trying to make up for his earlier actions. He was genuinely concerned about Harry.

Ron turned to her. "And 'Mione, I'm sorry for what I said before, I really am. I hardly see you guys these days, either of you," he said, looking from Hermione to Harry, "and I just want to make the most of it, you know?"

He watched them hopefully.

"I'm sorry, too," Harry said eventually. "I _have_ been keeping you in the dark. Dumbledore has asked me not to reveal what happens in our meetings to anyone, but that hasn't stopped me before this year, has it?"

Hermione and Ron both shook their heads, amused.

"I guess I should have learnt by now that keeping people in the dark only puts lives in danger, and I'd be stupid to risk my friends' lives by making the same mistake Dumbledore made with me. But I can't tell you everything," he said, looking at Ron. "You understand that, don't you?"

Ron nodded.

"But I'll tell you what I can... after you've conceded the Brighton Bombers are way better than the Cannons this season," he finished, smirking.

Ron laughed, a loud chuckle of nervous tension finally released, as he realised his friend has forgiven him. Hermione laughed, too, and a moment later all three of them were laughing.

It took them a few minutes to stop, after Harry wondered aloud what exactly they were laughing at, which made them laugh even more because none of the trio could remember.

"So, we're all friends again?" Hermione asked, looking between the two boys.

"I hope so," said Ron. "I promise never to be a prat again."

Hermione and Harry both snorted with laughter, earning a wounded look from the red-haired boy.

"Well, maybe not _never_ again," he amended. "Just never to either of you."

"That's better," Harry said. "And I promise never to keep my friends in the dark."

"I promise..." Hermione began. "Hang on, I don't have to promise anything!"

"You can promise never to knit another hat," Harry stated.

"Yeah!" Ron laughed. "Or never to buy us another diary planner."

"Or never to read _Hogwarts: A History_ again!"

"Or never to write more than the required length for an essay!"

"Or never check out more than four books at a time from the library!"

The good-natured banter continued as the trio made their way back up to the castle through the darkness, the moon obscured by heavy, snow-laden clouds.

Hermione felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She hated fighting with her friends, and Harry would need all the support they could give him in the next few months.

As they reached the gravel path leading up to the main entrance of the castle, the heavy wooden doors opened and a beam of light was thrown across the immediate area.

The tall, dark figure that stepped out, closing the door behind him, was instantly recognisable to the three of them.

"Shhh," Hermione said softly, pulling Harry and Ron off the path and behind a large tree nearby. "We're not supposed to be out in the grounds after dark."

They stood silently listening to the footsteps of the Potions master as he drew closer and passed them. Hermione chanced a fleeting look around the thick tree trunk and saw he was yet again wearing those heavy velvet robes.

They watched as he took the right fork of the path, towards the main gates and Hogsmeade.

"Come on, 'Mione," Ron whispered, pulling her back towards the castle.

"I wonder where he was off to?" Harry mused aloud.

"Hogsmeade, maybe," Ron guessed. "The Three Broomsticks for a nightcap or two?"

Harry snorted. "I think a Potions master could make his own nightcaps."

"True," Ron conceded, then snickered. "Maybe he's got a date. What d'you think, 'Mione?"

"I think I recall you promised not to be a prat," Hermione snapped.

"Oh, come on," he said affably. "I was only joking."

She gave him a look to let him know she didn't find it amusing, and they continued on their way up to the castle, minus the speculation about their teacher.

The very thought of Snape going on a _date_ was absurd, although Hermione thought she would distinctly prefer it to where she knew he was going tonight.

* * *

**To be continued...**

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. I apologise profusely for the lack of Snape in this chapter, but it was necessary for the story to move forward. I promise never to neglect the Potions master for an entire chapter again! pleads forgiveness_

_Also, allow me to beg forgiveness for my butchered Latin:_

Finite tabula:_ finish recording_

Curare tendere: _to heal with touch/massage_

_If you haven't read author's notes from previous chapters, this story is also posted at the Online Wizarding Library – owl dot tauri dot org – the next chapter is already posted there, and if you have a question, I can respond to reviews left on that site!_


	11. Progress

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter 11**

The following morning Hermione was relieved to see Snape at breakfast, looking as surly as ever, but seemingly unharmed. Potions was her first lessons that morning, and she made her way down to the dungeons with Harry, then parted with him when they entered the classroom, each sitting with their respective partners.

Hermione watched from her seat behind her friend as he exchanged cool glances with Malfoy. Despite their dislike of one another, they seemed to be getting on well enough to work together now. Harry needed a decent grade in Potions to enter Auror training, and Malfoy had a natural flair for the art. She wondered what the Slytherin would think of her new appointment with Snape?

The Potions master entered the classroom from his office, carrying a pile of parchments which turned out to be their last essays.

"Adequate," he commented as he handed them out. "However adequate will not suffice in my class. I expect nothing below Outstanding from my students, and should I not receive it in the future, you will find yourself without a place in this subject."

Hermione attempted to catch her teacher's eye as he passed her parchment back to her, but he resolutely ignored her. Slightly put out, although she knew he would act no different than usual in public, she glanced down at her essay. Flipping to the last page, she was pleased to see 96 scrawled in the bottom corner, but equally surprised to see a few lines of text above it in that distinctive red ink he favoured.

She very seldom received any feedback at all on her Potions essays. It seemed, in her case, Snape had twisted the old adage so if he didn't have anything nasty to say, he didn't say anything at all.

She glanced curiously up at the Potions master, who was across the other side of the room, before lowering her eyes again to read his scrawl:

_We will discuss our arrangement tonight. After dinner, go to the first floor East corridor. There is a door near the portrait of Ignatia Wildsmith. It will open at precisely five minutes past six. Do not be late._

She grinned momentarily at the irony of Snape passing notes in class, then shoved the parchment in her bag and started work on her potion.

* * *

After dinner, she found the portrait and the inconspicuous wooden door next to it with but a minute to spare. The corridor was empty; it only led to the Charms classroom and students were done with lessons for the day, so she feigned interest in the little witch in the portrait until she heard a soft click and the door swung open. 

Whatever was beyond the door was in darkness, and she cautiously stepped in, closing the door behind her. A murmured _lumos_ from somewhere very close startled her, and she found herself blinking up at Snape, his wand raised between them.

"Miss Granger," he said by way of greeting. "Did anyone see you come in?"

"No, sir." She shook her head. "There was no one around. What is this place?"

"It's a more convenient entrance to my workroom, which you'll be using from now on. After yesterday's events, I thought it prudent you not be seen in the dungeons any more often than necessary for your regular lessons."

She nodded in agreement. "Thank you, sir... but how do I make it open from the outside? Is there a password?"

"No," he said. "The door is keyed to ones wand, rather than a word, so if you'll touch your wand to the handle..." He gestured to the door.

She withdrew her wand and followed his direction. He murmured an incantation which caused the door and her wand to glow momentarily.

"You'll be able to open it from either side," he stated. "If anyone should see you enter or leave, and ask, simply inform them it is a shortcut used by only teachers and the Head Boy and Girl."

"Come." He led off down the corridor, lit only by the light emanating from his wand. Hermione realised as they walked they had yet to descend below the level of the first floor where she had entered the corridor. Now she thought about it, when she had previously visited Snape's private laboratory, they had taken a flight of stairs _up_ from the level of the Potions classroom.

She commented on it as they continued walking.

"An astute observation," he said. "The Potions classroom is located in the dungeons due to the volatile nature of some ingredients when exposed to sunlight. The Head of Slytherin, however, has not always been the Potions teacher, nor been so comfortable living in the dark. Rumour has it Salazar Slytherin, for all his cunning, was terribly claustrophobic."

Hermione laughed, the sound echoing off the bare stone walls. "You're not serious, are you, sir?"

"Deadly," he replied as they reached the end of the corridor and another wooden door. "Either that, or he just liked having windows to spy on his rival Houses."

He opened the door and ushered her into a room she instantly recognised. She'd seen a glimpse of it when she'd been in his lab making the Wolfsbane, and the room was every bit as pleasant as it had seemed from that first glance.

One entire wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crammed with hundreds upon hundreds of books, both old and new. Two comfortable armchairs and a matching couch sat facing the fireplace in a rough semi-circle, the dark blue upholstery contrasting with the warm ochre hues of the rug in front of the hearth.

On her left were three doors, the third of which she recognised at the one leading to the lab. In front of her was a desk, bigger and more luxurious than the one in Snape's other office, but still piled high with books and parchments. And behind the desk was...

"Oh, _wow_," she said, walking across the room to stand in front of the enormous window. She could see the lake and the Forbidden Forest, and in the distance, the twinkling lights of Hogsmeade village. "No wonder you like being Head of Slytherin if these are the rooms that come with the job. This view would be amazing during the day."

He stood next to her, arms folded. "It is," he admitted. "Although I don't find myself here during the day often enough to enjoy it." He paused. "Now, to business."

He beckoned her to follow him to the door which led to his lab. "As you've guessed," he said, "these are my private quarters. I trust you will respect my privacy and only enter them for the purposes of accessing the workroom."

He didn't proceed into the lab, but instead instructed her to draw her wand again, and performed the same incantation as earlier to key the wards on the door to open for her. After ensuring it worked, he offered her a seat in one of the armchairs by the fire, and took the other himself, conjuring a teapot and offering her a cup, before proceeding to discuss the arrangement laid out by the Headmaster.

In addition to the time that would have been her Medicinal Potions class, she was required to devote some hours of her own study time to the project. She hesitated at first, loathe to sacrifice what she perceived as much-needed study time, until Snape snidely pointed out she could have taken her NEWTs in place of her OWLs two years prior, and even then achieved near-perfect scores.

At this rate, she was going to have to start keeping count of the backhanded compliments he seemed to offer whenever they were alone.

She knew he trusted her to work alone, but nevertheless he said he preferred to be in the lab while she was brewing whenever possible. Eventually, taking into account her Head Girl duties and his own hallway patrols, they managed to work out a schedule she thought she would be able to manage alongside her studies.

Wednesday afternoons were previously her Medicinal Potions class, and although Snape had a class then, she would use the time to prepare non-perishable ingredients. Before and after dinner that night, she would be brewing potions in his presence, and again at the same time on Friday. He had also conceded to allow her to work in the lab on Sunday afternoons, owing to the sheer amount of potions Madam Pomfrey had requested. The list seemed to have grown since the previous year, he commented, and both Hermione and Snape thought, but didn't say aloud, that if the worst came to pass, they would be needing many more healing potions yet.

They had just finished dividing Madam Pomfrey's list into perishable and non-perishable potions when a shrill bell rang throughout the room, startling Hermione.

"I have a potion that needs attending," Snape said, standing up. "I shall not be long."

He swept into the lab and Hermione watched him go, thinking again how much their relationship had changed in the past week. She used _relationship_ loosely, but they had definitely progressed beyond simple student-teacher interaction.

If she didn't know better, she'd have thought the solitary man had actually been making an effort to be pleasant to her. Then again, she didn't presume to second-guess the Potions master; his attitude toward her could turn foul faster than the November weather. It only took the smallest thing to set him off. Perhaps it was she who had changed, unconsciously making an effort not to annoy him. Whoever was responsible, she found herself looking forward to the time she would be spending with him over the next few months.

She was about the refill her teacup when she glanced at the overflowing bookshelves again, and instead decided to peruse the vast collection while she waited for her teacher to return. Setting her cup on the coffee table, she made her way to the long wall of shelves, starting at one end. There were books on every topic imaginable, some predictable and other not so. Potions books took up a good quarter of the shelves and were accompanied, surprisingly enough, by a handful of Muggle chemistry texts.

There was a section of books on Dark Arts, both practice and defence, and the bottom shelf on one end contained books with titles like _Muggle or Mudblood? The Silent Invasion_, _Blood Magic: The Power of Purity_, and _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. Hermione passed over those books with a frown, moving on to discover a shelf crammed with books by both wizard and Muggle authors. Snape, it seemed, had a taste for historical fiction and ancient history, and Hermione resolved to ask him at a later date if she might borrow some of the titles.

Herbology, a complementary topic to Potions, also featured prominently, along with an extensive collection of books on different magical creatures. Hermione looked around, noted Snape was still busy tending his potion, and plucked a text simply entitled _Moonfillies_ from the shelf. Fascinated by what Snape had told her of the creature two nights ago, she flipped through the pages until she reached the chapter on human interaction, and read:

_Moonfillies are notoriously shy of humans and avoid most of our species at all costs. The creatures are, however, exceptionally perceptive of human emotions, and can sense guilt, pain and shame. There have been documented accounts of moonfillies endearing themselves to humans with a strong aura of these emotions. If the moonfilly believes the human worthy of redemption, they will seek to help them overcome their pain by offering friendship and their own unique healing assets._

Her conversation with Snape on Saturday night made sense now. She'd thought long and hard afterwards on how someone as harsh as the Potions master would be recognised as friend instead of foe to such a shy creature. _I have an... understanding, if you will,_ is what Snape had said about his association with the moonfilly. The creature obviously sensed the darkness in his past and, like perhaps only Dumbledore and herself, thought him to be worthy of a second chance.

She continued reading, until she heard a movement just behind her, and a moment later Snape's voice saying, "I wondered how long you'd be able to resist the lure of the books."

She closed the book and turned around to find him smirking lightly, but as he glanced down at the book in her hands, his face darkened.

"Interesting choice," he commented.

"I wanted to find out more about them," she said, "after our conversation the other night."

"And what did you find out?" he asked coolly, taking the book from her hands and replacing it on the shelf.

She furrowed her brow in confusion at the sudden hostility. "I didn't have the chance to read much," she murmured, and not wanting to aggravate him any further, attempted to change the subject.

"Can I ask about the potion you're working on?"

He nodded and returned to his chair in front of the fireplace, banishing the cold contents of his teacup and refilling it as Hermione sat across from him.

"As you probably know," he began, "the Dark Lord finds me useful for my potions skills as much as my closeness to Dumbledore. The latest task I have been assigned is to create a potion to replicate a curse the Dark Lord particularly favours."

"Cruciatus?" Hermione felt her blood run cold as Snape nodded.

"Exactly."

"You were talking with the Headmaster about a counter-potion," she mentioned. "Does that mean you've created the potion Vol- _he_ wanted?"

"Theoretically," he confirmed. "The brew appears to be sound, however I won't know for sure until I am able to test it; something which I am loathe to do until I have the antidote on hand."

Hermione was torn between admiration of the Potions master for his ability to turn the age-old curse into a potion, and the reality of what the potion would do to its victims. One of the few redeeming features of the Cruciatus curse was the toll it took on the person casting it. None but the most powerful witch or wizard could maintain the curse for any significant length of time.

A potion giving the same effects as the curse would suffer no such impediment. It could be delivered with deadly and continual force, and it terrified Hermione to think of what such a weapon would mean in Voldemort's hands.

Her fear must have shown on her face, because Snape said, "I intend to delay its delivery to him for as long as possible, however the more time it takes, the more I risk increasing his suspicion of my true motives. He has too much faith in my abilities and does not take kindly to failure, but until I have the antidote and am confident it works, I will continue to provide incorrect variations of the real thing to demonstrate my progress."

"Who do you test it on?" she suddenly asked.

"The Dark Lord provides test subjects for my use," he said softly, regretfully, and at her horrified expression added, "I don't like it, Hermione, but I have to play my part. Most of the brews I've delivered so far kill instantly, so the victims do not needlessly suffer."

She nodded dully. It had been horrible seeing the reports of audacious Death Eater attacks splattered across the front page of the Prophet, but these subtle killings of faceless victims possibly disturbed her even more. She wondered how many people in the course of Voldemort's reigns of terror had died like that; nameless Muggles left at the side of a dirt road, or in an empty field; some never found at all. The gravity of the situation hit her and she suddenly, inexplicably, found herself in tears.

Snape, for his part, didn't offer false words of comfort, instead choosing to sit quietly until she was able to compose herself.

"I'm sorry," she began, but he stopped her.

"No, it is I who should be apologising," he said. "I shouldn't have burdened you with such knowledge."

"I did ask," she said wryly. "Serves me right for being so curious, I suppose."

He didn't smile, but his eyes glinted with a trace of amusement as he declared their meeting to be over.

"I think that's enough for tonight," he said. "I shall see you on Wednesday to begin brewing."

She stood up and made her way to the door which would take her back through to the first floor. Turning with her hand on the doorknob, she said, "Thank you, sir."

He looked confused for a moment, and she clarified her broad statement.

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

She left before he had time to formulate a response.

* * *

Over the next three weeks, Hermione slipped comfortably into a routine built around the time she spent brewing potions. She had taken to spending more time in Snape's lab than initially agreed upon, and despite his early protests, she had a sneaking suspicion the Potions master was glad of her company and her help. Even with her assistance, he was still putting in ridiculously long hours. He was always well into his work when she arrived in the lab, and apparently there long after she'd gone to bed. She hated to think the hours he'd be keeping without her help. 

He'd been summoned twice by Voldemort, each time taking vials of the 'decoy potions' he had been keeping on hand to demonstrate his apparent progress to the Dark Lord. Each time he'd returned, no worse for wear himself, but with a steely determination in his eyes to complete the antidote as soon as possible.

Working together so often, they had become much more comfortable with one another, and had developed a cautious familiarity which bordered on friendship. He still managed to mock and sneer at her often, but it was done now in good humour, and after her initial shock in discovering his dark, sarcastic sense of humour was actually funny, she managed to give as good as she got.

His efforts to complete the antidote were being hampered. He was convinced the moonfilly droppings was the essential ingredient, but it was reacting oddly with another ingredient, and he was having trouble deducing which. At his wits end, he'd taken to testing each individually with the droppings, resulting in several melted cauldrons and one spectacular explosion. The blast thankfully didn't have any harmful effects on either occupants of the room, only leaving the Potions master, who'd been leaning over the cauldron at the time, with a rather blackened face which Hermione dared to quip matched the rest of his appearance.

"One-nil to the Gryffindor," he returned with a smirk, which left little doubt she would regret her jibe.

He got his own back the following day when she, after spending a solid hour stirring a potion, took a break and ate one of the small cakes from a tea-tray on his desk, a suggestion from Dumbledore after the Headmaster realised how many meals the two of them had been missing.

She moulted her coat of yellow feathers after a few minutes, but the rich laughter of the Potions master echoed in her mind all afternoon, and she resolved to try and coax the wonderful sound from him more often.

* * *

**To be continued...**

A/N: _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ is one of the books Sirius' family kept at Grimmauld Place. All other titles are my own crazy creations.

Moonfillies are a creature of my own creation, loosely based on the unicorn and the mooncalf (_Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_), and the Australian children's book series, _The Silver Brumby_ by Elynne Mitchell.

Ignatia Wildsmith did invent Floo powder, according to the HP Lexicon and JKR's website.

This story is also posted at the On-line Wizarding Library – owl dot tauri dot org – the next chapter is already posted there!


	12. Two Sides

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter 12**

A week before the Christmas holidays, the Headmaster called Hermione, Harry and Ron into his office. He explained, unlike the previous two years, that they would be unable to spend the week-long Christmas break at Grimmauld Place due to the dire circumstances Order members found themselves in as of late.

Hermione had guessed something was happening, and that it was being kept quiet. The Daily Prophet had been suspiciously lax in reporting Death Eater attacks during the past few weeks, after them making headlines of the tragedies earlier in the year. In a grim conversation in Hermione's room one night, Harry had been adamant the attacks were still happening.

Despite his Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore the previous year having been a great success, Harry still had the ability to sense particularly strong bursts of emotion from Voldemort. Hermione had deduced these bursts often coincided with the times Snape was being summoned in the past few weeks, and although she knew _he_ had only been demonstrating his progress with the potion to his former Master, from the little he had told her, it seemed the other Death Eaters present on those nights had been much more... active.

There was no twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he outlined the situation for the three students. Instead of the usual random attacks, Voldemort had begun a new strategy of targeting members of the Order and their families. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been the first, and the only, to be reported by the Prophet. Since then, Dumbledore had managed to persuade the newspaper not to report the attacks, and Hermione was stunned and dismayed to hear three Order members had been killed since then. Two of the three had been at home when the attacks occurred, and their families also fell victim to the servants of Voldemort.

The most worrisome thing was how Voldemort knew whom to target. Membership to the Order of the Phoenix was highly secretive, and few people outside the organisation knew it existed, let alone the details of its members.

"Another spy," said Harry, his eyes unreadable as he thought back to the consequences of failing to discover the last spy to infiltrate the Order, Peter Pettigrew.

"It's possible," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I am at a complete loss as to any other way this information might be escaping. I have complete trust in every single member of my Order and that trust being shaken is something we can ill-afford at this time."

"As a precaution," he continued. "All Order members will be living Grimmauld Place until further notice, with the exception, of course, of those of us residing here at the school."

"What about their families?" Ron asked, no doubt thinking of his own parents in the Order, and his brothers scattered around the country. "Won't the Death Eaters target them instead?"

"We have taken the necessary precautions to protect the relatives of all the Order members," the Headmaster stated. "All that remains to be seen is where the three of you shall spend Christmas. You are, of course, most welcome to stay here, however I imagine you were looking forward to a change of scenery."

Harry and Ron nodded fervently, and even Hermione had to admit the atmosphere in the castle had become somewhat oppressive. With Hogsmeade visits cancelled since the attack the previous year, the students had little opportunity to venture beyond the castle grounds, so this year not a single student had signed up to stay at school over the break.

"Do you know where my Mum and Dad are staying, Professor?" Ron asked. "I know Harry and 'Mione would be welcome at home if-"

Dumbledore was already shaking his head. "Your parents feel it would be safest if you didn't go home this year, Mr Weasley," the Headmaster said gravely. "Arthur is one of the more vocal supporters of good wizard-Muggle relations in the Ministry, and his fears that this may attract unwanted attention are well-founded."

Ron went pale.

"Rest assured, Mr Weasley," the Headmaster continued kindly. "Your parents are well-protected at Grimmauld Place with the rest of the Order. No harm will come to them there."

"We could stay with Fred and George," Ron said, relaxing minutely. "They'd be glad of the extra help in the shop over Christmas… and they might even pay us." His eyes lit up at the notion of spending money.

"That sounds good," Harry said, and then turned to Dumbledore. "Is that acceptable, Sir?"

The Headmaster nodded, his eyes twinkling again. "Certainly. I expect I'll be seeing some new pranks when you return for the new term."

Hermione bit her lip. Christmas with the Weasleys _did_ sound like fun, but she felt bad neglecting her own parents. She hadn't spent Christmas with them for a few years, and once she graduated and went out to live in the wizarding world, she feared the gap that had already grown between them would only become wider.

She cleared her throat. "If it's all right with you, Headmaster," she said. "I think I'd like to spend Christmas with my parents this year."

Dumbledore nodded understandingly, and she turned to her friends. "I'd love to spend Christmas with you both," she said honestly, "but I think I need to go home this year."

Ron looked slightly disappointed, but both he and Harry accepted her decision without question. With the matter settled, the conversation turned back to the Order. Dumbledore was confident they would seek out the spy before long, and in the meantime the best they could do was keep everyone protected and safe in Grimmauld Place.

Surprisingly, it was Ron, not Harry, who disagreed, though he didn't say so in the Headmaster's presence. The three Gryffindors were discussing it later that night, curled up in comfortable armchairs in the corner of Hermione's room, when Ron aired his concerns.

"I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking, putting the whole Order together like that in one place."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it," Ron said matter-of-factly. "Whoever is passing on this information to You-Know-Who is obviously privy to what goes on within the Order. If someone staying at Grimmauld Place is the spy, Dumbledore has just as good as handed him a complete list of every member."

Hermione went cold.

"Shit," muttered Harry, then said after a moment, "but Dumbledore said he trusts everyone in the Order. It has to be someone on the outside."

"Does it?" Ron asked sceptically. "Dumbledore trusted Peter Pettigrew, once upon a time."

Harry's face darkened and he said nothing.

"He trusted Quirrell when You-Know-Who was sticking out the back of his head..." Ron continued. "He trusted Moody, even though it was really a Death Eater in disguise… and he trusts Snape, even though he was a Death Eater."

_Not again_, Hermione thought. Aloud, she said coolly, "Oh, so that's what this is about."

"No, I didn't mean it like that, Hermione," Ron protested. "Just hear me out."

"No," she cut him off angrily. She thought they'd resolved his issue of trust with Snape last time they had argued, but apparently not. "It's your turn to hear _me_ out. I am sick and tired of you trying to blame Professor Snape for everything that goes wrong. Ever since our first year, you've been adamant he was trying to kill Harry, even though we know it's not true. No, he doesn't like Harry. So what? Professor McGonagall doesn't like Draco Malfoy; does that mean she's trying to kill him?"

"That's not what I meant, Hermione," Ron said. "Snape's a Death Ea-"

"He is _not_ a Death Eater!" Hermione yelled.

She took a deep breath, thankful for the silencing charm she'd placed on her door out of habit.

"Ronald Weasley," she said quietly. "If you knew half the things Professor Snape has experienced in his life, the thought that he might not be loyal to the Order would never cross your mind."

Ron sighed. "Look," he said. "I'm obviously going about this the wrong way. I'm not trying to start an argument, I'm _not_ being a prat like last time, and I'm _not_ saying I think Snape is the spy."

Hermione snorted. He could have fooled her.

"I just hope we catch the spy soon, because until then..." he paused and glanced at Harry. "Your Dad trusted Pettigrew, didn't he?"

Harry clenched his jaw and nodded, and finally Hermione saw Ron's point.

He was really just using Snape as an example, and although she wished he wouldn't, he'd made his point clear. They really didn't know who they could trust, because only other time someone had betrayed the Order, it had been the last person imaginable who did it. And perhaps the real traitor was using that to their advantage; generating fear and doubt among the loyal Order members, hampering their efforts to work together to win the war.

"Dumbledore believes in giving people second chances," Harry said, catching Ron's drift himself, "and that makes him vulnerable to anyone who can convince him they're worthy of saving."

"See what I'm saying, Hermione?" Ron implored. "Not that Dumbledore made the wrong decision trusting Snape, but that if he was willing to send a previously loyal Death Eater back to You-Know-Who as a spy, it's possible he gave someone else a chance to redeem themselves... someone he shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions," she said contritely. "But for the record, I think Professor Dumbledore would need a very convincing reason to trust someone from the other side. He didn't just take Professor Snape's word when he came to the Headmaster wanting to switch sides."

Both her friends look at her curiously and she shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "I can't tell you what I know, but I think I can safely say Professor Dumbledore isn't an old fool to be duped by just any sob story."

They all say quietly, staring into the fire for a few minutes until Harry spoke again.

"Last time someone betrayed the Order they were loyal to Dumbledore first, and then switched sides. Is it possible that has happened again?"

"That's what I was thinking," Hermione murmured. "That way the person wouldn't have to win the Headmaster's trust to infiltrate the Order; they'd already be a member."

"The only problem is," Ron put in, "that means it could be anyone? How do we know who to trust?"

"I think Dumbledore's right," Hermione sighed. "No one can do much more than be careful and keep an eye out for anything strange."

"Constant vigilance," Harry said, with a wry laugh.

* * *

The following day was Friday and after her last class Hermione, as usual, took the hidden passage to Snape's lab to continue brewing for the Hospital Wing. Despite the huge list Madam Pomfrey had given her, in the last month she'd worked her way through the majority of the non-perishable potions, leaving her now with the time to help the Potions master with his own work. 

His initial warning when she had started using the lab to stay away from his work had been forgotten by both of them, and between her persistence and his discovery of her genuine interest in the subject of potions, she found herself becoming more and more involved in his work.

She'd been surprised and pleased when he had consented to show her the research he'd been working on, and the depth and quality of his work only deepened her respect for him as an academic.

A week ago, Snape had finally discovered the problem ingredient in the antidote to the Cruciatus potion, and luckily the substance had an easily accessible substitute. Now he was just waiting to gather another supply of moonfilly dropping to complete the final mixture.

Hermione went about brewing her own potions in the lab until Snape came in hurriedly just after seven and looked over her shoulder.

"Calming draught," he noted. "That will keep well enough. Cast a stasis spell, Miss Granger. We have more important things to attend to tonight."

She cast the spell, cleaned her workbench and then went into the sitting room. He reappeared through another door, having forgone his usual black cloak for another; still black, but heavy and lined with thick fur. She looked at him questioningly as he handed her a similar garment.

"It's below-freezing outside," he stated, "and warming charms are only so effective."

"Where are we going, sir?" she asked, taking the cloak from him and draping it around her shoulders. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and some other scent she couldn't place. It was very heavy, but the luxurious feel of the fur was more than worth the weight.

"Tonight is the third night of the waxing moon," he said, "and our only opportunity for another month to gather the key ingredient for the antidote. As the Dark Lord will now have the completed potion before another month has passed, there is no time to waste."

"You're giving him the real brew so soon?" Hermione asked as she followed him out of his quarters via the main door. He led her along a short corridor and to another door, which opened to reveal the snow-covered grounds leading out to the Forbidden Forest. Only once they were well across the grounds away from the castle did he speak again.

"Dumbledore has decided that feigning failure any longer will put my position with the Death Eaters in jeopardy," he explained. "Therefore, the next time I am summoned, I will be delivering the completed potion."

"When do you expect to be summoned again?" she asked carefully as they reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest and started on a narrow path into the trees.

"I don't know," he said shortly, then sighed and added, "Although I don't expect to Dark Lord to allow Christmas to pass without some sort of… celebration."

She shuddered. It wasn't an image of Death Eaters singing carols in Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve that his words brought to mind.

They walked silently for a while, Hermione only breaking the quiet momentarily as she drew her own wand and muttered _lumos_. The darkness under the canopy of tall trees was absolute and Snape, ahead of her, was shining his own wand on the path ahead, leaving her in shadow.

They had been walking for over half an hour and were deep in the forest when Snape suddenly stopped at the edge of a clearing, lit by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the break in the trees.

"There," he said softly, pointing to the base of a tree. Hermione could see what they had come for; a rather large pile of the droppings, glowing slightly.

"She'll be around here somewhere," he murmured, and then called aloud in language Hermione recognised as Latin, though she didn't understand the words.

"It speaks Latin?" she asked in amazement. Though many of the more man-like magical creatures – centaurs, goblins and giants – spoke human languages, Hermione hadn't considered the moonfilly among their number, likening the creature instead to the unicorn, whose speech was understood by none but its own kind.

"She," the Potions master said, with a reproachful glance at Hermione, "understands the old language. She cannot speak, as such, but she listens, and I can understand her well enough."

Just then, a movement at the far side of the clearing caught Hermione's eye, and a most beautiful creature stepped cautiously out of the trees.

None of the illustrations in books about magical creatures did the animal before them justice. It was much smaller than a unicorn, perhaps three feet high, but with the same body shape and grace. Its coat was a sleek, dark brown, and where the moonlight fell the coat shimmered with a strange luminosity. When the creature moved, the light rippled across its coat in an intoxicating dance. It's mane and tail were also dark, like the coat, but the strands seemed to absorb even more of the lunar light until they fairly glowed.

It reminded Hermione of a documentary she'd seen on television while at home the previous summer; how the lunar planet was a dull and barren place, yet from the Earth, at night, it appeared to be a thing of great beauty.

The creature snuffled and pawed the ground nervously.

"She's not used to others," Snape said softly. "Wait here."

Hermione watched, enamoured, as the creature, upon seeing Snape, whinnied and moved towards him. When close enough, he reached out and stroked her mane and she, leaning into his touch, lifted her head to nuzzle his side gently through the folds of his robes.

A low chuckle rumbled from the Potions master and he reached into his robes, withdrawing a handful of some sort of food. The moonfilly ate the proffered food from his hand as he spoke in a low voice.

Hermione couldn't hear what he was saying, but guessed well enough when the creature looked past him, watching her instead with trepidation in her bright eyes.

Snape beckoned her forward and, taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the clearing to join them.

As she drew near them she hesitated and her step faltered. Snape, watching her, said something to the moonfilly, and the creature came forward, nose outstretched to sniff her hand. The nose was soft and warm, and the creature proceeded to circle her, sniffing gently.

Hermione stood still, unsure of what to do, when the creature snorted loudly, startling her, and gambolled away across the clearing.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked Snape, who looked vaguely amused as he shook his head.

"No, she's merely disappointed you didn't have any treats to offer her, as I did."

"Oh."

"Now," Snape said briskly. "Let's gather what we came for."

The moonfilly had returned to Snape's side, and he petted her mane lightly with one hand while withdrawing a wad of canvas from a pocket of his robes with the other. Hermione recognised the canvas as the same material he'd unwrapped the droppings from to show her a month ago.

The moonfilly obviously recognised his intent, too, because upon seeing the material, the creature trotted over to the pile of droppings, waiting expectantly for them to follow.

They both knelt near the pile and Snape showed Hermione how to collect the valuable substance without it being tainted by dirt or human touch. The moonfilly stood by, watching, as Hermione carefully wrapped the dropping in extra layers of canvas.

Snape said something to the creature then, which resulted in her head-butting him not-so-gently in the side again.

"What did you say?" Hermione asked, both amused and bewildered by the camaraderie the two unlikely beings seemed to share.

"I told her not to look so pleased with herself," he said, smirking. "It's not as though she had any choice but to be rid of it."

This time Hermione was the one to snort as she tried to hold back her laughter. She still wasn't used to hearing the Potions master speak so frankly, and having discovered his dry sense of humour, she found Potions class quite difficult. She constantly had to remind herself not to laugh when he directed a carefully veiled but completely justifiable insult at one of her fellow students.

Her outburst, however, seemed to startle the creature quite badly and it whinnied in fear, ducking behind Snape for protection.

"I'm sorry-" Hermione started to say softly, but Snape held up his hand, speaking again to the creature. Hermione listened intently to the low, rumbling voice of her teacher, but couldn't understand more than the odd word. After some minutes the moonfilly, looking slightly sheepish, if that was possible, came out from behind Snape and snuffled his hand, performing the same gesture to Hermione before turning with a swish of her tail and disappearing into the darkness beyond the clearing.

"What was that about?" Hermione said.

"That was her way of saying goodbye," Snape said, after a pause adding, "she's a strange creature, but a useful ally to have, particularly now." He held up the carefully wrapped package of dropping.

"What did you say to her after I startled her?" Hermione asked after a while as they were walking back to the castle. "You were talking for ages."

"I merely told her you were my friend and would do her no harm."

"Friend?" Hermione looked back at her teacher, counting on the semi-darkness to obscure the hopeful expression on her face.

"Loosely translated," he said, looking down at her, the darkness making his own expression unreadable. "She doesn't understand the entire Latin language. By telling her you were my friend, she understood that you would not harm her." He paused. "I also asked her should you ever come seeking her gifts without my presence, she would provide them for you."

"Oh."

They walked without speaking for a time, only their footsteps and the rustling of small, unseen creatures nearby breaking the silence.

"You know, sir," she said conversationally as the trees began to thin out near the edge of the Forest, "you should have taught Care of Magical Creatures. You were really brilliant with her."

"Trying to put Professor Hagrid out of a job?" he commented snidely.

Hermione hesitated. Snape knew she wasn't taking Care of Magical Creatures as a NEWT subject, and although she was great friends with the half-giant teacher, and his knowledge and love of magical creatures was extensive… sometimes his lessons were a little too wild.

"No," she said, "but if you ever wanted a change from teaching Potions, I'm sure-"

"I doubt I'd have much success," he said abruptly, walking beside her now as he pointed to his left arm. "Many magical creatures are driven away from Dark magic just as surely as moonfillies are attracted to it. Half of the creatures in the NEWT curriculum wouldn't come near me."

He increased his pace to walk past her and she knew from the finality of his tone the conversation was over. It annoyed her that their pleasant discussions always seemed to turn and end on a sour note. It was as though he couldn't allow himself to be happy for any significant amount of time.

The mask always slid back into place; woe betide if anyone else saw the real Severus Snape. Hermione had been seeing more and more of him as time went by, and it scared her a little how much she was beginning to like the hidden side of her teacher.

Back in the castle, Snape's mood seemed to worsen by the minute. He taught her to brew the antidote, although they wouldn't know for sure if it worked until it had simmered for thirty-six hours and an opportunity arose to test it. He flatly refused, however, to tell her anything about the ingredients or brewing process of the Cruciatus potion, despite him starting to brew a fresh batch that night. She tried reasoning with him that knowing the ingredients of the original potion would help her better understand the cure.

He turned on her, slamming his wand on the bench between them.

"Do not question my judgement," he hissed angrily. "You are under my supervision and will learn _only_ what I deem suitable for you to know."

Then he turned to the cauldron behind him, resolutely ignoring her.

This was absolutely Professor Snape, not the other person she'd come to know... Severus, as she – possibly unwisely – thought of him to herself.

She had no idea what had caused the sudden eruption of anger. She'd argued with him before, a few weeks prior, when he had refused to show her a potion for detecting Dark magic in the blood on the grounds it was considered borderline Dark magic in itself. In the end, her persistence had won out, with him showing her reluctantly, grumbling half-heartedly about '_pushy Gryffindors_'.

She wondered why his reaction this time had been so different?

She knew, after seven years in his class, the best way to placate an angry Professor Snape was to keep her head down and get on with her work. Moving to the other side of the lab, she took her calming draught off stasis and completed the brew. He didn't glance in her direction once, and after cleaning up her workspace, she let herself out quietly, unsure whether she was more angry or upset at the complicated man.

* * *

**To be continued…**

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Some of you are very perceptive and I really value all your comments Chapter 13 is already posted at the On-line Wizarding Library – owl dot tauri dot org_


	13. Cruciatus

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them. I'll put them back when I'm done… though not necessarily in the same condition I took them in…_

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**Chapter 13**

The following day was Saturday, and the first since Hermione had begun her duties with Snape that she didn't go down to his laboratory on her designated day off.

Despite their original arrangement, she'd found herself frequenting his workroom more often than they'd agreed, staying past curfew on numerous occasions, and using the peace and quiet of the lab and the resources of his extensive library to do her own work, as well as assist Snape with his.

Much to her delight, the Potions master didn't seem to mind her appearing at unscheduled times, merely raising an eyebrow and continuing with his own work, or, on one occasion, snidely commenting that if she couldn't go a day without his company, she really did need to get out of the lab more.

She rolled her eyes at him before turning away, feigning interest in the third shelf of the ingredients cupboard, to hide the blush that rose in her cheeks. His comment, though not intended so, hadn't been that far from the truth.

After his strange and confusing reaction on Friday night, however, Hermione felt no inclination to venture into his private domain until absolutely necessary. As much as she wanted to be a part of his work, in her Gryffindor stubbornness, she wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction of knowing her thirst for knowledge would bring her back, no matter how he treated her.

She was more frustrated than anything else. They had been getting along so well in the past month; she'd truly enjoyed the time spent with him, even when they were both absorbed in their own work, brewing in silence. It was a reprieve from the noisy Gryffindor common room, and Hermione got the distinct impression Snape, too, enjoyed the quiet company in preference to his solitude.

After lunch on Saturday, she found herself in the Headmaster's office, venting her frustration to the elderly wizard who, sensing something was amiss, had invited her for a cup of tea and an – untouched – plate of cakes.

"He's just so infuriating," she said, shaking her head. "We were getting along so well, and now he's just... _turned_. I don't understand it. One minute he's trading insults with me, in good humour I might add, and the next, he's ignoring me, or worse."

The Headmaster looked grave. "You must remember, Miss Granger, he is under a great deal of pressure at the moment, perhaps more than ever before."

"I do realise that," she said. "I just don't see why that gives him just cause to be so abrupt. I _am_ trying to help him, even if it wasn't his idea."

"You seemed to be getting along quite well, as you said," Dumbledore commented. "Did anything happen to change that? What was the last thing you were discussing?"

Hermione had to think for a moment before she remembered. She described to the Headmaster their brief conversation about Care of Magical Creatures, and how Snape, while acknowledging his skill with the moonfilly, didn't think that success would transpose to other creatures.

"Oh," she said suddenly, realisation dawning on her features. "He said other creatures wouldn't work with him because they don't like Dark magic."

She hadn't given much thought to his comment the previous night, and only now recalled the bitterness of his tone when he'd referred to the Dark Mark on his arm.

"It seems to me," the Headmaster said thoughtfully, "that the direction of your conversation reminded him of what he was, and perhaps he felt you were getting too close."

"To close?" Hermione was confused. "I'd hardly call our relationship close. Amicable, maybe, but nothing more."

"Amicable is a lot more than Severus is used to, Miss Granger," the Headmaster reminded her. "You have to see the situation from his point of view. He has allowed – grudgingly, at first – a student access not only to his private laboratory, but also his quarters. He has allowed you to become involved in his research and his own work and spend extra time in the lab outside scheduled hours. He's taken you with him to visit a creature I cannot even get him to speak of, let alone show me where it dwells. And after all this, he's suddenly become distant and cold again."

"Perhaps," the Headmaster continued, "in the pleasure of having someone who appreciates knowledge as much as himself, he has allowed himself to forget why he distances himself from everyone."

Hermione thought back to the images she had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve. It seemed so long ago now that she'd watched in horror as Voldemort commanded the young Snape to demonstrate his loyalty once and for all, sacrificing those closest to him to prove it.

"He's pushing me away because he thinks I'll get hurt?" she whispered.

The Headmaster nodded sadly.

"Despite outward appearances, Miss Granger," Dumbledore went on, "I believe Severus thinks more of you than he is willing to let on. The reality of the situation, as harsh as it sounds, is that this is a war. Life is a precious thing, but sacrificing one life for the continuation of our cause has been necessary in the past, and will become so again. I believe Severus distances himself so greatly from everyone because he never wants to be put in that situation again."

It made so much sense, given his strange attitude, Hermione didn't know why it hadn't occurred to her before.

"That's silly, really," she commented. "My association with him has put me in no more danger than I am already in. I'm one of Harry's best friends, and a Muggle-born, too. I couldn't be more of a prime target, really."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with that deduction for the most part, Miss Granger," the elderly wizard said heavily. "However, it is evident Severus does not, especially given a certain incident several weeks ago involving yourself and one of his young Slytherins."

"He _told_ you about that?" she gaped.

The Headmaster nodded. "He was concerned it may happen again. It was I who suggested he give you the alternative way into his laboratory."

"Oh," she said.

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling suspiciously. "Do not be troubled by Severus' manner, Miss Granger. Rest assured, whatever he does, he has your best interests at heart, even though that may be hard to see at times."

Hermione left the Headmaster's office feeling relieved, and much happier with the situation than she had previously been. She still wouldn't go to the laboratory today, but she would have no apprehension in returning tomorrow, as per her schedule.

* * *

Later that day, Hermione was at dinner, enjoying a sumptuous roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, when Harry, sitting next to her, suddenly dropped his fork and clutched his forehead with both hands.

The clatter of the fork barely drew a glance from anyone except she and Ron, thankfully, and Hermione put down her own cutlery quickly and turned to her friend.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, grimacing in pain, his hands pressed hard to his scar. "He's really angry about something," he gasped out quietly.

Hermione met Ron's eyes across the table.

"We better get him out of here," the redhead said. Hermione nodded and stood up, trying to look inconspicuous while grasping Harry's arm to pull him away from the table with her.

The trio headed for the doors of the Great Hall, and Hermione glanced back at the Head Table momentarily. Dumbledore was watching them leave, frowning, and a further glance down the table showed the Potions master was not at dinner.

She turned away, filing that piece of information in her mind to worry about later, and escorted her friend from the Hall.

"Hospital Wing," said Hermione, and Ron, grasping Harry's other arm, nodded and steered them in the direction of the stairs.

Being the dinner hour, there was no one else about, which they were all eternally thankful for when, halfway to the second floor Infirmary, Harry cried out and fell to his knees. He would have keeled over completely were it not for the support of his friends.

"Ron, go and fetch Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said urgently, kneeling beside Harry, unsure of how to help him.

Harry gasped for breath, scrabbling at his scar with one hand until Hermione could see nail marks in his forehead. She gently prised his hand away, allowing him instead to dig his fingers into her own palm.

"Harry, you have to Occlude," she implored. "Try to block him out."

"I can't," he choked out. "It's not working."

The pain seemed to subside after a few moments, and Hermione helped Harry to sit back against the stone wall of the corridor.

"He's livid about something," Harry said breathlessly. "Someone has failed to do as he asked, and he's getting impatient for it to happen."

Hermione shivered. She hated the way Harry spoke when he tapped into Voldemort's emotions. It was frightening, the strength of the link between the two enemies.

"Come on," she said eventually. "Do you think you can stand? Madam Pomfrey will be here in a moment, and you don't want her to see you like that on the floor. You'll be in the Hospital Wing for a week."

She helped him climb gingerly to his feet and they continued along the corridor, meeting Ron and the Mediwitch around the corner.

"Now, Mr Potter," she scolded. "What have you done to yourself this time?"

"It's my scar," he said, wincing again and reaching up to rub the angry, red mark.

The Mediwitch regarded him for a moment.

"Miss Granger, she said at length. "Kindly fetch the Headmaster. Mr Weasley, if you will assist me in getting Mr Potter to the Hospital Wing?"

Hermione reluctantly left her friends and made her way quickly up another flight of stairs to the stone gargoyles outside the Headmaster's office. She was about to give the password when she thought, _You fool, Granger, he's probably still at dinner_.

She turned to hurry back downstairs and saw the Headmaster coming towards her.

"Miss Granger," he greeted. "Is something amiss?"

"It's Harry, sir. His scar. He's in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey asked me to find you."

Dumbledore beckoned for her to follow him and turned, striding quickly back to the stairs and down to the Infirmary.

"Sir," Hermione said, somewhat out of breath. The elderly wizard could move fast when need called. "I thought Harry had succeeded in blocking Voldemort out, but tonight, he knew what he was feeling."

"Harry has progressed wonderfully in the art of Occlumency," Dumbledore said, stopping as they reached the door to the Hospital Wing. "However, his link to Voldemort is both unique and strong, and even as an accomplished Occlumens, he will still be perceptive to strong bursts of emotion from Tom Riddle."

The Headmaster pushed open the doors and the last sound Hermione expected to hear met her ears.

Laughter.

Hysterical laughter.

And it was coming from Harry.

Following the Headmaster quickly across the room, Hermione gazed from the frightened look on Ron's face to her other friend on the bed. Tears of laughter were streaming from Harry's eyes, but his pupils were dilated and he looked terrified. It was obvious the emotions he was displaying were not his own.

The Headmaster moved forward quickly, grasping both of Harry's hands in his own and saying, "It will pass, Harry. Not long now. It will pass."

It did pass after several agonizing minutes, and Harry finally relaxed enough for Madam Pomfrey to put a phial of Calming Draught to his lips. It took effect almost immediately and Harry slumped back onto the pillows, exhausted.

"He's happy now," the dark-haired young man murmured sleepily. "He got what he wanted. Everything is going to plan." Then his eyes closed and he drifted off into a restless sleep.

"Come on, all of you out," the Mediwitch ordered. "Mr Potter needs his rest."

Hermione, Ron, and even the Headmaster, allowed them to be ushered from the bedside, and Madam Pomfrey drew the curtains around the bed.

"That was bloody scary," Ron said lowly as they walked out of the Hospital Wing. "What do you reckon You-Know-Who got that has him so excited?"

Hermione met the Headmaster's eyes but said nothing. She had an uncomfortable feeling she knew exactly what had made Voldemort so happy, and who had delivered it.

"I do not know, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore, giving Hermione a meaningful look, "however we will use all our resources to find out what has happened. In the meantime, Harry is in capable hands. I suggest the two of you try not to worry, and get some rest."

The Headmaster left in the direction of his office, and Ron made towards the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

"You coming, 'Mione?" he said when she didn't immediately follow him. "You heard Dumbledore, Harry will be okay."

"I know," she said absently, then added, "no, you go ahead, I think I'll just go for a walk to clear my head."

She waited until Ron disappeared upstairs, and then, ignoring her earlier decision to wait until tomorrow, headed straight for the east corridor on the first floor.

* * *

"Professor?" she called as she emerged from the passage into Snape's sitting room. The room was silent and cold, as was the laboratory when she checked the other room. Looking closely at the cupboard containing his potions samples, she noticed a couple of phials of the fake Cruciatus potion were gone.

She bit her lip.

Should she stay here and wait until he returned? Would he have the answers to why Harry's scar was hurting so badly, why he felt such anger, followed by elation? Was any of Voldemort's anger directed at Snape?

She decided to stay, concern for both Harry and the Potions master winning out over common sense and the need for sleep. She could at least get some work done while she waited, so she set about brewing some more potions for the Infirmary. Calming Draughts, like the Mediwtich had given Harry earlier, sleeping draughts and bruise salves. All were relatively simple brews, but required her concentration and served to take her mind off other worrying issues.

It seemed hours later when the sound of someone Flooing in through the sitting room fireplace reached her ears, and she glanced through the partially open door just in time to see the Potions master disappearing through a door on the other side of the room, the one Hermione had deduced led to his bedroom. It slammed closed behind him.

Hermione frowned, stirring her cauldron thoughtfully. Something was slightly off about his fleeting appearance, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Usually, upon returning from a meeting with Voldemort, he would come straight to the lab, pale and silent, and begin brewing whatever had been requested of him that night.

After a few minutes and no further sound from the other room, her worry increased and, casting a stasis spell on her cauldron, she made her way through to the sitting room.

The first thing she noticed was Snape's heavy, velvet Death Eater robes discarded haphazardly on the floor near the fireplace. Her frown increased; it was unlike Snape to leave anything out of place. She picked them up, starting slightly when a black mask fell out from amongst the folds.

She draped the robes carefully over the back of one of the armchairs, but couldn't bring herself to move the mask from where it lay on the hearth.

She knew it was only an object, and it was silly to be fearful of it, but it held such terrible connotations, especially for someone such as herself, a Muggle-born. It was the last thing many people like herself saw before their lives suddenly, brutally ended.

Her morbid thoughts were interrupted by a muffled sound from the direction of the bedroom. Crossing the room, she stood quietly before the closed door, listening. Louder now, she recognised the sound as a cough, a horrible hacking cough.

She stared at the closed door. What would Snape do if she ventured into his bedroom, uninvited? From the sounds coming from within, he didn't seem to be in any condition to berate her, and so, her worry outweighing her fear, she grasped the handle and pushed the door open.

"Sir?" she called.

Hearing no response, she stepped into the dim room, lit only by the glow of a solitary candle on the dresser. That light was enough to see the room was empty, and her attention turned to the only other door leading from the room, as another bout of coughing ensued from beyond it.

Before she could lose her nerve, she crossed the room, pushed the bathroom door fully open, and gasped at the sight before her.

Snape was on his knees, retching helplessly into the porcelain toilet bowl in front of which he knelt.

Seeing him now, she realised what had been odd when she'd glimpsed him as he'd returned. He must have foregone his usual layers under his Death Eater robes, for now he was clad only in black pants and a white linen shirt, so soaked with sweat that Hermione could see the pallor of his skin through the fine material.

As the door squeaked on its hinges, he turned towards the sound, still holding the toilet bowl with a white-knuckled grip.

His face was a mask of pain, paler than ever, and shining with perspiration.

"What are-" he managed, before turning away from her as another wave of hacking coughs wracked his body. His hair fell forward, obscuring his tortured features from her view, as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Initially stunned into silence, Hermione shook herself into action. She hadn't taken those Medicinal Magic classes for nothing. A quick flick of her wand conjured a cool, damp washcloth, and she approached the Potions master.

Pallid strands of sweat-soaked hair were clinging to his cheeks, and she hesitated only momentarily before stepping up beside him and drawing his hair back from his face, holding it gently bunched at the back of his neck to prevent it falling forwards again.

She realised, as her hand brushed the back of his neck, that his whole body was shaking.

_Cruciatus?_ she thought. What could he possibly have done to anger Voldemort enough to leave him in such a state?

Unless this was normal...

He hadn't returned like this the last few times he'd been summoned... but Voldemort had been reasonably pleased with his progress in creating the potion. Is this how Snape returned whenever he displeased his master? Her heart still clenched painfully in her chest at the thought of the Potions master having to recover from this, alone, time and again.

The coughing stopped and Snape sat back on his haunches, gasping for air, his eyes watering from the effort of retching for so long.

Hermione released her hold on his hair and pressed the washcloth into his free hand. The other was still clutching the toilet bowl to steady himself. He took the cloth without comment and wiped his face in the cool material as Hermione conjured a glass of water.

She didn't trust her voice, so she exchanged the washcloth in his hand for the glass of water in silence, regretting the action a moment later as the glass slipped through his trembling fingers.

It bounced, and she was glad she'd instinctively conjured an unbreakable glass. She conjured another, saying softly, "Let me help you."

He met her steady gaze and nodded slightly, his eyes not moving from her own as she brought the glass to his mouth, tipping it slowly to allow the cool water to pass his lips. He swallowed a few mouthfuls with some difficulty before pulling away.

She stepped back from him then, clearing the water on the floor from the first glass and turning away to place both glasses on the bench near the hand basin. She kept her back turned for as long as possible, feigning interest in the bare stone wall of the room, to give her professor the opportunity to compose himself somewhat.

It must be humiliating for him to be seen by anyone in such a state, even someone he evidently trusted more than he was willing to acknowledge aloud... by Dumbledore's account, anyway.

At least he hadn't told her to leave yet, although whether that was because he wanted her to stay, or was in no condition to argue, was another matter.

She turned back to face him when she heard movement, and watched as he rose shakily to his feet and crossed the space between them. He still looked paler than normal, and she had to resist the urge to reach out to steady him.

"Thank you," he rasped, his voice dry and scratchy, completely devoid of its usual velvet tones. It was only when she met his eyes she understood the gravity of those two words, and somewhere, through her concern and fear, she felt a strange sense of elation burst within her. Her hands were wanting to reach out to him, to help him, to comfort him and soothe his pain; but her mind was singing, _He's letting me help him! He's not pushing me away!_.

She realised she was still staring into his eyes, and she looked away, discomfited by their closeness in the small room. He moved past her to the hand basin and turned on the cold water with a murmured word, cupping the water in his hands and splashing his face.

She stepped out of the bathroom quietly to give him some privacy, but hesitated in going any further, her curiousity for what had happened and genuine concern for Snape stopping her from leaving entirely.

She sat carefully on the edge of a dark blue, velvet chair and took a moment to study her surroundings as well as she could in the low light.

The room certainly wasn't what she expected. Although, to be fair, she hadn't spent a great deal of time musing on the décor of the Potion master's bedroom.

If she ever managed to tell Harry and Ron about the room without them flying down to the dungeons to kill Snape, she would take great pleasure in announcing there was neither a coffin, nor a hook where the 'great, greasy bat' slept hanging from the ceiling.

The room was actually quite nice, she mused. Dark, to be sure, but not the cold and unfeeling room she might have expected. She noted, with a trace of amusement, the only Slytherin colours in sight were on a striped scarf hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

The room was graced with the same enormous windows as the sitting room, although these ones were hidden at present by heavy drapes, which seemed to match the upholstery of the armchair she was sitting on. There was a large wardrobe along one wall, similar to the one Professor Lupin had trapped the Boggart in for class during her third year. There was also a tall chest of drawers, and two smaller ones either side of the bed.

The bed itself looked... comfortable. Hermione couldn't think of a better word to describe it, really; it was the kind of bed one would look forward to sinking into after a long, hard day. The bed linen was in rich tones of ochre, contrasting beautifully with the blue drapes and chairs, and giving the room a warmth and cosiness.

The squeaky hinges of the bathroom door alerted her to Snape's presence in the room, and she stood up, her movement alerting him the fact that she hadn't left.

"You shouldn't be here," he said tiredly, barely making it across the room before sinking heavily onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight and he closed his eyes, raising a still-shaking hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving you like this, sir," she replied, matter-of-factly. "What happened?"

He exhaled a breath. "I delivered the finished Cruciatus Potion to the Dark Lord."

"I don't understand," she said slowly. "How... if you gave him what he wanted..."

"Why did he do this?" He gestured to himself and sighed. "As you know, I've been taking him a variety of potion samples over the last few weeks to demonstrate my progress. Although I delivered the proper potion tonight, I still took some other samples with me, less he wonder why I was so sure this one would work."

Hermione nodded, straining to hear his voice, which was still nothing more than a soft rasp.

"I saved the real potion for last, and tested the other two on," his voice faltered momentarily, and he turned his gaze to the floor, "...on some Muggles the Death Eaters had captured."

Hermione swallowed, feeling sickened.

"The Dark Lord became angry when the samples killed the victims instantly, painlessly. He ordered me to test the contents of the last phial myself," Snape finished quietly.

"_What_?" She stood abruptly, moving to stand in front of him. He raised his head, and she noticed the sweat still beading across his forehead.

"It works, then," she whispered, a dull sense of dread filling her as the Potions master chuckled bitterly, then coughed again.

"I'd say so," he muttered, clearing his throat with pained effort. "Better than I would have ever imagined, if you'll forgive the choice of words."

She nodded in agreement. 'Better' certainly didn't cut it. Snape was silent for a moment, and Hermione watched him, seeing, even in the low light, the tremors still running through his body.

"What was it like?" she whispered.

"It was..." he paused, searching for the right words, "...I don't know how to describe it. The power of the Cruciatus spell, as you probably know, is dependant on the wizard casting it. It cannot be sustained for any length of time, and although it can be recast, there is always time to recover, to take a breath. This was different; there was no relief. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think... I know I was screaming, until my voice gave out... and after a while I must have blacked out, because when I came to my senses, I was alone."

His voice broke, and somehow, in the course of his narrative, Hermione found herself kneeling on the floor next to the bed, clasping one of his hands in her own. He didn't pull away, but merely stared at something above and behind her, waiting for her to make a move.

For her part, Hermione was speechless. She was horrified, both at what he'd been through, and the detachment with which he talked about it. His unresponsiveness to the familiarity of her taking his hand had unnerved her, and she wondered if he was in some sort of shock.

She daren't suggest any potions, lest they react with the one undoubtedly still in his system from earlier that night.

_Potions_,she thought. _How could I have forgotten?_

"The antidote," she exclaimed aloud, standing up, but hesitated when he shook his head.

"It won't be ready until tomorrow," he said, grimacing. "It needs to simmer for thirty-six hours after the dropping have been added."

"You should get some rest, then," she offered.

"No," he said, standing up, too. "There's much to be done. The Dark Lord wants a full batch of the potion by next Saturday."

The Potions master strode across the room towards the sitting room door. He made it halfway before faltering and grasping the back of the armchair for support. He leant there a moment, breathing heavily, and Hermione came up next to him.

"Sir, please," she implored. "You can't do anything like this. You need to rest until the effects of the potion have worn off."

"We don't know how long that might be," he protested without a trace of his usual persuasion. "I cannot afford to waste time."

"You'll be no good to anyone if you blow up your cauldron through exhaustion, and you're in no condition to accurately prepare ingredients when you're shaking like this."

She grasped his shoulder, firmly enough to feel the involuntary tremors still coursing through him. It was only then she realised his shirt was still damp with sweat, and cold.

"You'll catch a chill, too" she said quietly, giving his sleeve a gentle tug and guiding him back to sit on the edge of his bed again. "You should change into something dry."

He nodded numbly, and reached for the top button of his shirt. It was a mark of how out of it he was that he would do so in front of her, but it didn't matter, because his fingers were trembling so badly he couldn't undo it. He sighed and dropped his hand back to his lap.

"Do you want me to help you?" she asked carefully.

He exhaled a breath, colour rising ever so slightly in his pale cheeks.

"Want? No," he said. "Need? It would appear so."

She stepped forward again, breathing evenly through her nose and trying to stop her own fingers trembling as she reached for the first button under his chin.

He tilted his head back, allowing her easier access, and closed his eyes, remaining that way as she worked each button loose, When she reached the point where the shirt disappeared into the top of his trousers, she hesitated, and looked up to find him watching her contemplatively. She felt a blush rise in her own cheeks, and she stepped back, hoping the low light in the room was masking her discomfort.

"I'll just, er, go out there for a moment," she murmured, gesturing to the sitting room.

"That won't be necessary," he said, and she looked up, startled. Did he mean...

"You may return to your own quarters, Miss Granger," he continued.

Oh.

"Will you be all right, sir?" she asked.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," he replied, a trace of a sneer, albeit a half-hearted one, creeping onto his face. "However, if you should like to return in the morning when the antidote is complete, you may observe the final stage of the brewing process."

She nodded, biting her lip, and after a moment turned to the door.

"Miss Granger," he called softly after her.

She paused and turned back. He had risen from the edge of the bed, again, though he was still grasping the corner of the four-poster for support.

"I-" he began, then paused a moment before simply saying, "Your assistance is appreciated."

He looked so unlike the feared Potions master, standing there, in the dim light, a strip of pale chest visible down the open front of his shirt, his limp hair wet and dishevelled.

She nodded, allowing herself a small smile before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her.

He really was just a man, she realised, after all was said and done. Without the robes, without the sneer, without people judging him by the brand on his arm, he was just a soldier fighting in a war; someone who had contributed so much yet received so little in return.

She understood, after seeing him tonight, why Dumbledore had put the two of them together. If someone had told her months ago she'd be standing in the Potion master's bedroom with him half-dressed, she'd have been handing them Floo powder and directions to St Mungo's in an instant. Now, though, she was glad the Headmaster had pushed their reluctant association, glad that she could be there to assist Snape in his time of need, and that he had allowed her to help.

She knew, when he was in his right mind again, he would probably try to push her away, hurt her with his harsh words or his silence, but she wouldn't be deterred. She was in this now for the duration. True, he was still as sarcastic, stoic and stubborn as ever, but he was no longer cruel. All pretences aside, the Potions master was just human, and capable of hurting just like anyone else.

She stared at the closed bedroom door. She knew he'd told her to leave, but she couldn't bring herself to go back to her own rooms. The effects of the potion seemed to be wearing off, but they were really dealing with an unknown. There was no telling whether the symptoms would flare up again through the night, and she intended to be there, just in case the worse happened.

And, she could admit it to herself, even if she'd never tell another soul, she wanted to stay because she genuinely cared for the man in the next room, as a teacher, as a mentor, of sorts, and as a friend.

She glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was just after midnight. The antidote would be ready in eleven hours..

She took off her outer robe and, frowning in momentary concentration, configured the garment into a soft rug. Then she curled up in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, tucking the rug tightly around her.

Several times during the night, she got up to stand with her ear pressed to the bedroom door, listening for sounds of discomfort from within. More than once, she had to consciously restrain herself from actually opening the door.

Each time, she returned to her chair and stared into the dying embers of the fire, flashes of the night's events playing over in her mind. Sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

**To be continued... **

_A/N: This chapter took a little longer write than usual... but it's longer than usual, so I hope that makes up for the delay!_

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! Your comments are always appreciated. As always, the next chapter is already posted at the On-line Wizarding Library. See my author page or LJ (snarkyroxy) for the link!_


	14. Concessions

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 14**

Hermione awoke with the prickling sensation of being watched, and raised her head to see the Potions master looming over her where she had slept in one of his armchairs.

"I thought I told you to leave," he said in a low voice. The image of him standing over her was slightly less intimidating than usual, though, as he was dressed only a shirt – black, this time – and trousers, which were rumpled as though he had slept in them. On closer inspection, Hermione thought he probably _had_ slept in them, the dirt on the knees indicating they were the same pair he had been wearing last night.

"I... are you okay, sir?"

"Do not try to change the subject, Miss Granger," he spat. "Why are you still here?"

"I thought someone should be nearby in case you had any recurring side effects from the potion." It was the truth, but obviously not what Snape wanted to hear.

"You _thought_," he mocked. "And I suppose it didn't matter what _I_ thought, or what _I_ wanted, given that these are _my_ quarters."

He turned away and crossed to the windows, staring out across the white-shrouded landscape. Hermione got up from her chair stiffly, her muscles protesting at having been cramped up all night. She noticed the mask was no longer lying on the hearth. He must have put it away before she awoke.

"It _does_ matter what you want," she said, walking over to stand beside him. He snorted. "But you weren't... in your right mind last night."

"I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself," he snapped. "Your intrusion was inappropriate and unwanted, and if I'd been in my _right mind_, you'd have been out of here faster than a Firebolt."

Hermione took a step back, stung... but then she remembered Dumbledore's words, and saw Snape was doing exactly what the Headmaster had surmised: pushing her away.

She watched his profile, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the way his jaw was set tightly as he relived the previous night's events in his mind. How could she get through to him when he kept closing up like this? Trying to talk to him didn't help, and compassion was mistaken for pity, neither of which he would accept. She sighed. Maybe she was trying too hard... or was she not trying hard enough? Perhaps she had yet to convince him of her sincerity.

Saying nothing, she laid a hand lightly on his forearm where it was crossed over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the soft fabric of his shirt.

He pulled away as though her touch had burned him, though, hissing, "Do not assume such familiarity with me, Miss Granger. You overstep your bounds."

"Oh, bollocks," she scorned. "What bounds? You said it yourself. This is a war. Normal rules don't apply."

"The war is not within these rooms," he seethed angrily, "and as such, I am still your teacher and you are my student. You would do well to remember that is as far as anything between us goes."

"Don't be ridiculous," she returned, dimly wondering how many House points Gryffindor could afford to lose. "Regardless of who or what brought us into this situation in the first place, we're in it together now, and I'm not about to walk away."

"There's nothing to walk away from, Miss Granger," he replied, his voice getting louder. "None of this is your business, not any of it. You have no right to be involved."

"Bugger your rights!" she yelled.

"Dumbledore already did that when he told you my accursed life story!" he shouted back, his face contorting with rage before he tamped it down again, concealing all emotion.

She took a deep breath, willing herself not to just slap some sense into the man in front of her. "I didn't _ask_ to be shown," she bit out waspishly. "I even tried to talk him out of it, but you know what the Headmaster is like, once he sets his heart on something."

"Yes, I know how he likes to play with people's lives as though they were mere pawns in some sick, twisted game," the Potions master snapped, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he crossed the room and sank into one of the armchairs. He didn't appear to have fully recovered from the previous night, she noted, as she returned to the other chair, hoping they might be able to have a civilised conversation.

How could she make him see reason? Honestly was the key, she decided. She couldn't manipulate the Head of Slytherin into believing what she said; the only option was to tell it like it was and hope he recognised her sincerity.

"Dumbledore was wrong to show me those memories," she began, and he snorted in disbelief. "Just hear me out, sir, please."

"Very well," he sighed, "go on."

"He should never have shown me, but he did. I can't change that, and short of an _Obliviate_, you can't expect me to just forget what I've seen and continue on as though everything is as it was before."

"Everything _is_ as it was before, Miss Granger," Snape countered. "The only difference is that you are now aware of it."

He wasn't going to make this easy for her.

"Yes, I am aware of it," she said firmly, "and if I'd been aware of it before, no doubt I would have wanted to help then, too. Whatever you want to tell yourself, I'm not here because Dumbledore asked me to-" Snape opened his mouth to protest but she rushed on, "-yes, that's why I was here in the first place, but not now. I'm here because I _want_ to be, because I _choose_ to be. Do you really think I would spend so much time here if I thought it to be such a chore? I know anyone outside these rooms would think me strange for admitting it, but I've actually come to enjoy most of the time I've spent here."

She paused. He was staring at the fireplace, watching the dancing flames with an unreadable expression on his face. _At least he appears to be listening,_ she thought, and decided to press her advantage.

"I've learnt so much from you," she went on. "You've taught me so much more than you had to, given me opportunities to learn things I'd never have otherwise known, and I'd like to be able to give you something in return."

"So you feel you owe me; that's why you're here?" he sneered.

"No!" I-" She sighed, exasperated, and then said softly, "Is it so hard to believe that somebody might actually care about you?"

He didn't answer her.

"Look," she said finally, "if you're pushing me away because you think you're putting me in danger, it's a waste of time. I'm already in danger for who I am, and who my friends are. I think you _do_ like having me around, but you're afraid I'll get hurt if I get too close to you."

He blinked, and she could see a muscle twitching in his tightly clenched jaw as he turned to her, his voice low and angry, but also holding a hint of something else... was it fear?

"What did you say?"

She looked away for a moment. Of all the terrible things she'd seen of his life in Dumbledore's Pensieve, the loss of the only two people who had seemed to care about the young Severus Snape had affected her most of all. In a way, she thought that was what had driven him to become such a solitary person, cutting himself off from all the world so he'd never again become close enough to anyone to be hurt by their death.

She met his eyes again, imploring him to see the truth and compassion behind her words. "I know you push people away so they don't get hurt," she said softly, as she stood up and crossed the space between the two chairs. She rested a hand on his arm again, and this time, he didn't pull away. "But I'm willing to take that chance."

"You don't know what sort of chance you're taking," he protested, adding gravely, "This isn't some game, Miss Granger."

"I know that," she replied. "This is war, _even_ within these rooms, and I need to feel like I'm contributing, like I'm doing something for the Order, even if it's something as mediocre as brewing a fresh headache potion for their spy."

She smiled wanly, and was heartened when he returned the expression, even if it was more of a twisted grimace than a smile.

"I _do_ appreciate what you've done here," he said after a moment of contemplation. "Both in the lab, and... I'm just not... I'm not well-versed at expressing gratitude."

"You're not good at expressing much at all, sir. You're a closed book, to most people," she said with a short laugh, then, more seriously, said, "I don't want thanks, anyway."

"A Gryffindor who doesn't want recognition and praise?" he quipped. "Are you sure you were sorted into the right house?"

She released his arm and threw his own smirk back at him. "The Sorting Hat did want to put me in Ravenclaw, you know," she commented idly.

He snorted. "What ever made it consider that?"

They had slipped back into their easy banter so quickly, Hermione had hardly noticed the change until she found him smirking at her, amusement dancing in his tired eyes.

"So, we've reached an agreement, then?" she asked hesitantly.

"So it would seem," he sighed, scowling half-heartedly. "Yet again, it appears that meddling old fool will have his way."

She nodded and turned away, walking across the room to stare out the windows again, the landscape almost blinding as the sun broke through a gap in the clouds. She was happy he'd given in, although if he were doing so just to keep Dumbledore happy, there would always be some sort of underlying resentment.

Perhaps sensing her concern, she heard him walk up behind her, felt his eyes on her. She didn't turn around.

"Hermione."

"I'm listening," she said quietly.

"No," he said, "look at me."

She turned around. He was standing so close, she had to actually tilt her head up to meet his eyes, but she didn't step back, and neither did he.

"The truth is," he said, his dark eyes locked with her own, "having you as an assistant _has_ been enjoyable. It's been a long while since I've taught anyone who really cares for what I'm teaching, let alone someone genuinely interested enough in the subject to want to spend extra time, learning, testing, researching. I might never have discovered your interest were it not for Dumbledore, and I doubt, even given your enthusiasm, you would have volunteered such information to me under normal classroom circumstances."

"As you said, I haven't allowed anyone close enough to be considered a friend in a long while and..." he cleared his throat, "... I won't deny I feel some sort of affinity with you, perhaps because your thirst for knowledge is so like my own was, at your age. I wasn't merely playing with words when I told the moonfilly you were my friend… so if you feel I am worth the risk, I would be pleased to consider you so."

She stared at him for a moment, moved by the sincerity of his confession, and then smiled.

"I'd be honoured if you considered me a friend, sir," she said truthfully.

He nodded, and seemed to exhale a breath. "You're braver than you think, Miss Granger, I'll give you that," he said.

She raised an eyebrow and batted him lightly in the arm. He returned both the expression and gesture in kind, and she laughed.

He cleared his throat after a moment, glancing at the clock on the mantle. "Now, I believe we have a potion to attend to, do we not?"

She nodded and followed him into the lab, trying not to grin too widely. Snape had finally conceded, not only to allow her to help him, without them going through this argument every time, but also that he did, in fact, enjoy her company and consider her a friend.

It was a momentous occasion, for both of them, if she wasn't mistaken.

Back in teacher mode, Snape instructed her to line up a dozen large flasks to store the antidote, and stood over the cauldron until the precise moment the sand in the hourglass timer ran out. He hefted the cauldron of the flame and moved it to the cooling stand, extinguishing the flame with a murmured word, but no sign of his wand.

Hermione leant forward cautiously to peer into the cauldron. The mixture was thin, and a sickly green colour.

"Is that what it's supposed to look like?" she said, wrinkling her nose at the unpleasant odour coming from the brew.

"Hmmm," Snape said noncommittally, picking up the first of the flasks and siphoning a portion of the brew into it. "Its appearance is correct based on my theoretical calculations, however the only way to be sure is to test it."

Assuming Snape meant to try a sample of the potion himself, Hermione retrieved a small phial from the shelf and held it out to him, but he didn't take it.

"What's that for?"

"I, uh, assumed you were going to test the potion?"

He shook his head. "No, we won't know how successful it is until it's been tested on someone suffering the full effects of the original potion."

She furrowed her brow, thinking. "But you're still suffering _some_ effects from last night, aren't you?"

He eyed her shrewdly. "Yes," he said. "But I don't believe it's enough to prove conclusive of the antidote's success."

"Couldn't hurt to try, anyway," she murmured.

If he heard her, he ignored it, and continued to bottle the potion until all the flasks were filled. Then, however, he took the small phial she had left on the workbench and half-filled it from the nearest flask.

She watched interestedly.

"Well, Miss Granger," he bit out. "Are you merely going to sit there and watch, or make yourself useful and note down the results of this little test?"

She heard him snort as she scrambled for parchment and quill, and then looked confused to find him watching her expectantly.

"Sir?"

"This was your idea, Miss Granger," he smirked. "I am merely the text subject. I await your instructions."

She flushed and looked down at her blank parchment. "Right," she said hesitantly. "I suppose we should start by listing the symptoms you're currently experiencing, so we can compare them to those present after you've taken the antidote."

He nodded approvingly and she scribbled the question on the parchment before looking at him to answer.

"Headache," he said with a slight grimace. "Nausea, dizziness, fatigue, chills..."

"You feel all those symptoms now?" she asked, and he raised an eyebrow. How did he manage to stand up, let alone concentrate?

"Right," she murmured. "Anything else?"

He shook his head.

"Okay, uh, I guess you should, er, test the antidote, then," she faltered, feeling distinctly uncomfortable giving the Potions master instructions, although he seemed to be enjoying the game.

Without a word, he downed the contents of the phial, and Hermione held her breath, hoping Snape hadn't made a mistake and the potion was actually a deadly poison.

Nothing happened for a few minutes, and Hermione ended the silence by asking impatiently, "Well, do you feel any different?"

"I thought you'd never ask," he sneered lightly. "It appears, Miss Granger, we have a working antidote."

"The symptoms are gone?" She put aside the parchment and jumped off her stool, walking around the workbench to inspect the professor more closely.

"All gone," he confirmed, a smile playing on his lips. "However," he cautioned, "we still need to test it more thoroughly to be sure."

Her face broke into a broad grin. Yes, it still had to be tested, but she had no doubt the tests would be successful. She felt immensely proud to be a part of such a momentous creation, even if she had only contributed to the brewing, not the development of the potion in itself. She said as much to the Potions master.

"You've been more help than you realise," he commented, as he stoppered the flasks and she helped him move them to a lockable cabinet at the side of the room for safe-keeping. "Without you having taken over the brewing for Poppy, I would have had far less time to be working on the antidote. I wouldn't be anywhere near completing it by now."

She blushed at the praise, which she still wasn't used to receiving from her teacher. "So, what do we do next?"

He cleared the workbench with a flick of his wand and beckoning for her to follow him back into the sitting room. "Next, _I_ need to speak with the Headmaster, and _you_," he said, glancing at the clock again, "have a train to catch, I believe."

Hermione glanced at the clock herself, realising it was just before noon. Lunch was about to be served in the Great Hall, and the Hogwarts Express was leaving at two o'clock to take the students home for Christmas.

"I suppose I should be going, then," she said awkwardly, unsure how to handle the strange, but nonetheless welcome, change in Snape's behaviour.

"Are you leaving the castle for Christmas, sir?" she asked, more out of the need for something to say rather than any real curiosity.

"No," he said shortly. "I have much to do, especially without the help of my assistant."

"Oh," she murmured. Was he angry she was leaving for the holidays? It was only a week, but it hadn't even occurred to her what might become of her duties when she'd told Dumbledore she would be going home for Christmas. Had Snape expected her to stay?

"Miss Granger," he admonished. "I thought you would recognise a joke, even from someone so unlikely to make one as myself."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, berating herself for not seeing the glimmer of amusement in his eyes earlier.

"Although," he conceded, "I daresay your assistance will be doubly appreciated when you return."

She smiled sheepishly. "Thank you, sir. Have a nice Christmas."

"And you, Miss Granger," he replied, as she walked over to the door leading to the corridor.

She opened the door and then stopped, turning back to face Snape. "Sir, do you think since we're... friends, you might consider calling me Hermione? I feel like I'm going to be told off whenever you call me Miss Granger."

He eyed her contemplatively for a moment, before replying. "I believe I could manage that, _Hermione_," he said, smirking, but then cautioned, "only within these rooms, and _never_ within earshot of another person."

His concession was reasonable, and she smiled and wished him a Merry Christmas once more before closing the door between them. He hadn't offered her use of his own name, but she hadn't expected it. Though the man she'd just parted company with was definitely Severus, as opposed to Professor Snape, she wouldn't address him as such without his agreement.

Despite NEWTs drawing closer and the threat of war looming, Hermione felt, as she made her way down to the Great Hall for lunch with her classmates, that this Christmas was going to be a good one. And with only four days until December 25th, she'd just discovered another person to add to her list of friends to buy for.

* * *

**To be continued**

_As always, thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. I love hearing your comments and speculation. This chapter just didn't want to be written, for some reason, but it's done, and I have the next chapter planned and ready to write… mostly._

_I'd love to hear what anyone thinks Hermione might buy Snape for Christmas ;)_


	15. Christmas

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 15**

The train ride from Hogsmeade to Kings Cross Station was uneventful. Hermione alternated between patrolling the carriages, and sitting pensively by the window, watching Harry and Ron play Exploding Snap, and wondering what sort of reception she might get from her parents.

Ever since Hermione had been injured in the Department of Mysteries in her fifth year, her parents had gone cold on the idea of her living in the magical world. The summer after her fifth year, they'd had a terrible row, in which things had been said that shouldn't have been, and feelings were hurt.

She had made a point, before then, every time she came home for the holidays, of telling them as much as she could of what went on in the wizarding world, from the mundane to the frightening. She wanted to make them feel as much a part of her world, her life, as possible. After hearing of the fool's errand Harry led she and the other members of the DA on to the Department of Mysteries, though, her father had tried to convince her to cut all ties with her green-eyed friend, lest he lead her into danger again.

Hermione had exploded, saying he was her best friend and she would gladly put her life on the line for him. She also made the mistake, in her anger, of saying it may well come to that, if the final confrontation with Voldemort came to pass as prophesised.

Both her parents had been stunned by what they saw as a reckless, youthful, foolish attitude towards a serious situation, and had tried to forbid her from returning to Hogwarts at all. She hadn't seen them since, opting to spend subsequent holidays at the Burrow, or 12 Grimmauld Place.

There had been an icy silence between the parties for a good six months after that, until Hermione discovered, after the attack on Hogsmeade last year, that her parents had still been receiving the _Daily Prophet._ One of the many pictures splashed across the paper of the attack had shown her in the background, a bloody gash across her forehead from a stray hex, helping another student. She'd received three frantic owls from her parents the following day, the last of which, the bird had been instructed to peck her incessantly until she penned a response.

Their correspondence had hesitantly resumed after that, and although they seemed to be back on good terms via post, Hermione was careful never to speak of anything relating to Voldemort or the Order again. The _Prophet_ had been quiet lately, after reporting only the first attack of many, and Hermione was counting on the fact that her parents relied on it, and nothing else, for news of the wizarding world.

Arriving at Kings Cross Station, she hugged her best friends goodbye, and answered the cheery good wishes of her other classmates with a wave, before hoisting Crookshanks under her arm, grabbing the handle of her trunk, and stepping through the barrier to meet her parents.

"Hello, darling," Jane Granger said, enveloping her daughter in a hug. "It's so good to see you."

"You too, Mum," Hermione said, before turning to her father. "Hi, Dad."

Adam Granger looked down at his daughter seriously for a moment, and Hermione got the distinct impression she was about to be told off, before a twinkle in his eyes gave him away, and he wrapped his only daughter in a bear hug, lifting her clean off the ground.

"It's wonderful to see you, Hermione," he said, lowering her to the ground again. "Look at you! You've grown so much; not my little girl anymore, are you?"

"Dad," she said, exasperated, swatting his arm playfully.

"Come on," he said. "The car is around the corner. Let's go home. Done your Christmas shopping?"

She shook her head. "I thought Mum and I might come back into the city tomorrow," she offered, looking to her mother, who smiled.

"That sounds lovely, dear."

The car ride home was strange for Hermione, after being away from the Muggle world for nearly a year and half, but once they got out of the city and her father was able to talk and drive at the same time, they hardly stopped chatting all the way home.

Hermione filled them in on many of the things she'd been doing, although was careful not to mention anything that might give her parents cause to worry, or start another argument. Both her parents were delighted to hear of the work she had taken on with Snape; potions was akin to chemistry, in their eyes, and a subject they could somewhat understand.

She went to bed that night and lay awake for some time, listening to the foreign sounds of the Muggle world around her, and knew she could never come back to live there for good. Despite being Muggle-born and still struggling to fit into the magical world at times, she belonged there more surely than she ever would in the world where her parents lived. For the first time in years, though, she felt her parents had finally accepted who, and what, their daughter truly was.

* * *

The following day, Hermione spent an exhausting day with her mother, fighting through crowds in the city to buy Christmas presents for friends and family. After lunch, and already laden with too many packages, Hermione made a quick trip to the ladies room, and came back, much to her mother's distress, carrying nothing.

"You've left the parcels!" her mother cried, obviously envisioning someone else having a very happy Christmas, with hundreds of pounds worth of free presents.

"It's okay, Mum," Hermione returned with a laugh, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the tiny miniatures of their shopping. "They're much easier to carry like this."

Her mum laughed and shook her head. "You've got a spell for everything, don't you, darling?"

They parted ways shortly afterwards for a few hours. Hermione, ducking into an inconspicuous alcove, concentrated hard and Apparated to Diagon Alley to buy presents for her friends.

Most of her friends were easy to buy for; new Quidditch gloves for Ron, a book on Blood Magic for Harry, which had become a fascination for him after learning of the protection his own mother's blood afforded him against Voldemort, and a pair of earrings for Ginny.

Her parents' special surprise was also organised, and she frowned, looking at her list. The last person to buy for was Snape. What on earth could she give him? It couldn't be anything too expensive; she didn't want to embarrass him, or make him feel as though he had to reciprocate, and it couldn't be too personal, lest he get the wrong idea.

It had to be thoughtful, and useful, she finally decided. A book was the obvious choice, but after seeing his collection, she doubted she could find a title he didn't yet possess that would interest him. She'd only skimmed over the fiction books on his shelves, so she really had no idea what he read for pleasure.

She wandered around Flourish and Blotts from some time, hoping for inspiration to strike, when she came upon the writing section. _That's an idea,_ she thought, smirking. _Perhaps his supply of red ink needs replenishing after all the scathing comments he's delivered so far this year._

She considered buying him a quill, but something in the parchments section caught her eye. It was a sheaf of parchment, bound into a book by some invisible means. The cover was thick and black, etched with silver and green Celtic designs. _Very Slytherin_, she thought.

Turning it over, she read the craftsman's note attached to the back cover, and discovered it wasn't just parchment, but self-indexing parchment. The charms woven into the book during it's creation would automatically sense keywords in the writing, and index the books contents alphabetically, including page numbers.

Hermione had seen Snape's research and notes on the Cruciatus potion and antidote when they had started working together; it was a haphazard jumble of ingredients, incantations, charms and formulas, indecipherable to anyone but the author. Even Snape had, on more than one occasion, spent some time shuffling through various piles of parchment in search of a particular phrase or recipe.

_It's perfect for him_, she thought with a smile, stepping up to the counter and ticking Snape off her list. Shopping done, she headed back to Eeylops to organise delivery to her friends.

* * *

The rest of the week passed quickly, and before she knew it, she was stumbling downstairs, bleary-eyed, on Christmas morning.

Her father was in the kitchen, cooking the waffles they always had for breakfast, and humming in a deep voice to the Christmas music playing softly in the lounge room.

"Happy Christmas, Dad," Hermione said, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Happy Christmas, honey," he said, returning the kiss. "I think there's an owl waiting for you in the lounge."

Hermione smiled. "I think he's waiting for you, actually," she replied, "and Mum, wherever she is."

"Right here, Hermione." Jane Granger called, coming down the stairs. "What's waiting for me?"

"Presents," said Hermione, giving her mother a kiss, and then taking over the waffle-cooking from her father, pointing to the lounge. "Go on, there's a present for both of you that you should, er, open now."

They fixed their daughter with a curious look, but went into the next room. Hermione giggled when she heard her mother's exclamation, "Oh!"

One of the presents she had purchased in Diagon Alley earlier in the week was for her parents. They had been using the school's barn owls to communicate with one another over the past year, but once Hermione left school, or if her parents needed to contact her in a hurry, they had no means of transporting their letters.

For that reason, she had gone to Eeylops Owl Emporium, purchased a handsome tawny owl, and arranged for it to arrive at their house on Christmas morning. There was no law against Muggles having an owl for a pet, and Hermione thought it would ease her parents' minds, to be able to contact her easily should the need arise.

"He's wonderful, Hermione," her father exclaimed, coming back into the kitchen with the bird firmly perched on his arm. "What do we call him?"

"That's up to you," she said, and then chuckled. "Although, you'd better be careful. Once you give him a name, he won't answer to anything else."

They discussed names over breakfast, while the unnamed owl sat watching them curiously, perched on the backrest of the empty chair. By the end of the meal, Hermione's parents had decided upon Mercury, the name of the winged messenger to the Roman Gods. The owl hooted happily and flew out the open kitchen window.

A moment later, there was another flurry of wings, but instead of Mercury returning, Hermione turned to see Hedwig, Pig, a large barn owl and a sleek black eagle owl, all laden with packages of different shapes and sizes.

"Looks like your presents have arrived," her mum laughed. "Bring them into the lounge in a moment and we'll get started."

Hermione extracted a box-shaped package from Hedwig, and two smaller packages carried between Pig and the barn owl. Without waiting for the fourth owl, the others took off out the window and disappeared into the sky.

The black eagle owl was watching Hermione expectantly.

"And who are you from?" she whispered softly, stroking its silky feathers for a moment. The owl hooted and stuck out one foot, to which a small envelope was attached. As soon as the owl was relieved of its missive, it, too, took off out into the sunlight.

Frowning, Hermione turned the envelope over, and her breath caught in her throat.

It simply said, _Hermione_, but she would recognise the elegant scrawl of the penman anywhere.

She glanced at the clock on the stove. It was only just after eight. She'd instructed the post owl not to deliver Snape's own present until breakfast-time at Hogwarts, so it couldn't possibly be a thank you note already. Had he actually thought of her without knowing she'd bought him a present, too? It was only an envelope, but, on closer inspection, a lump in the corner of the package gave away the presence of something other than parchment in the package.

"Hermione! Are you coming in?" her mother called, a trifle impatiently.

Shaking her head, she tucked the envelope under her arm and carried her parcels into the lounge room. She put them down next to the small pile of gifts from her parents, surreptitiously hiding the envelope beneath the other presents. Just like every year, she watched her parents open their presents first.

Besides Mercury, she'd also bought her parents a variety of little gifts, most from the magical world. Her father (and mother, actually) was delighted with the iron-free business shirts from Madam Malkin's. Most commonly worn by wizards in the Muggle Liason Office at the Ministry, she'd thought them perfect for her father.

For her mother, she'd bought a beautiful silver ring set with a firestone. Within the stone, the tiny flame, visible only to the wearer, changed colour according to their mood, reflecting the colour back onto the clear stone for others to see. When her mother put it on, Hermione was pleased to see it turn the deep blue of happiness.

"Thank you, darling," Jane whispered. "It's wonderful."

Hermione grinned broadly, and reached for her own pile of presents. Ron and Ginny had bought her an assortment of lollies and jokes from their brothers' shop, and Mrs Weasley had sent her the traditional knitted jumper and a box of mince pies, which Hermione's father eyed eagerly. Harry's gift was a beautiful black quill which, on inspection, appeared to be from the same species as Snape's owl. She giggled, hoping it hadn't come _from_ Snape's owl.

Lastly, ignoring the envelope, she reached for the small box that was her present from her parents.

"I know it only looks small," her father said, "but it means a lot."

She gave her father a strange look; he wasn't normally one for such sentiments, and then opened the box carefully. Inside was a beautiful silver pendant bearing the symbol of _Pir_.

"Oh, Mum, Dad," Hermione whispered, gazing from the pendant to her parents in wonderment. "It's beautiful, but how did you know...?"

"You left some of your books home this year," her mum explained. "I was looking through them hoping to find an idea for something to give you that has significance in your world, and I came across the rune alphabet."

Hermione picked up the pendant from the box and held it up, the tiny crystals along the main downstroke of the rune shimmering in the light. Her mother always had a knack for procuring the perfect gift for any occasion, but even Jane Granger probably didn't realise the aptness of her gift. The ancient rune _Pir_ was the symbol of protection, and while the shape had no magical power as such, it gave a sense of well-being, and would bring some measure of safety to the wearer in their daily toils.

It wasn't just the significance of the gift that moved Hermione almost to tears, but the words her mother had used. _Something that has significance on your world_. The Grangers had finally come to accept the fact that their daughter was part of a different world, a world they neither fully understood, nor could ever be a part of. Instead of feeling resentment, though, as they so often had before, they had finally realised that would only drive a bigger wedge between them, than their living in two different worlds would already serve to do.

Hermione recognised the gift as a sign that her mother and father had finally accepted she would never turn away from the magical world, the world she belonged to, and she was overjoyed that she would be able to go into the world beyond Hogwarts, knowing she still had the support and love of her parents.

"Happy Christmas, darling," her mum said, helping her fix the pendant around her neck, and then enveloping her in a tight hug. When she pulled away, Hermione saw tears glistening in her mother's eyes.

"Mum? What is it?"

"Oh, nothing, darling," the older woman said, smiling sadly at her daughter. "It's just wonderful to see you, after all this time."

Hermione bit her lip and looked down. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "It's not that I didn't want to come home... I _did_. I just... after last time... I didn't know whether you'd try to stop me going back again, and I couldn't chance it. It's _my_ world, don't you see? I belong there."

"We know you do, honey," her father said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "We were worried, and frightened, and there were – are – a lot of things we don't understand about magic, and that made it harder for us to let you go."

"But that doesn't matter, now, darling," her mother continued. "As long as you're happy, we're happy. And we're so proud of you, whatever path you choose to take in your life."

"Thanks, mum," Hermione said, a single tear escaping her eye as she hugged her mother, then her father.

"Hermione, look, you've missed a present," her father said, picking up the envelope from Snape and handing it to her.

"Oh." She took it hesitantly.

"Well, go on, open it," her mother urged. "Who's it from? Let's see what it is!"

Her stomach in knots, she opened the envelope and withdrew the parchment. The lump she had felt earlier fell into her hands, and she found herself holding a tiny book, obviously shrunken for delivery. She fleetingly wondered why she'd never thought the charm herself; it had cost her a fortune to send all her presents to Harry and the Weasleys.

"Oh, my wand's upstairs," she said, suddenly, berating herself for leaving it out of reach. A few days in the Muggle world, and she was already forgetting basic common wizard-sense. "I'll just go upstairs."

In her room, she sat on the edge of her bed and spoke the spell to enlarge the book, gasping as she recognised the title.

_Moonfillies._

It was the book she had read in Snape's sitting room, the one he had taken from her, fearing she would read too much into the reason he related so well to the creature. It wasn't his copy, though; it was newer, and bound in dark blue, not black.

She glanced from the book to the parchment in her other hand. The message of the book itself was more heartening to her than any Christmas wish, but she put the book aside and broke the wax seal of the note.

_Hermione,_

_I realised, upon trying to find something suitable for your Christmas gift, that I have absolutely no idea of your likes and dislikes._

_It is inexcusable, on my part, to know so little about a friend, and I do hope you will assist me to rectify the situation when we next meet._

_Happy Christmas,_

SS 

Hermione stared at the parchment for some minutes, reading the words over and over. It was such a simple note, but the meaning behind the words filled her with a happiness she couldn't explain. A happiness, she thought with a tinge of remorse, stronger than that she'd felt at her parents' acceptance of her, and their own gift.

In her parents' home, far away from Hogwarts, her time with the Potions master seemed almost like something out of a dream, her befriending him something she'd only imagined. Yet here was proof, absolute definitive proof, that he had not only truly accepted her friendship, but offered his own in return.

Hermione didn't notice her mother standing in the bedroom doorway, observing, until she spoke.

"Who is he?"

Hermione dropped the parchment, startled, then bent to pick it up, clutching both the letter and book in her hands as she looked at her mother. "What?"

Jane Granger smiled, and crossed the room, sitting on the bed next to her daughter.

"Oh, come on, Hermione, I'm not that old," her mother scolded. "I know that look when I see it. Are you going to tell me about your young man?"

Hermione flushed with embarrassment. "No, mum, really," she said. "It isn't like that, it's..."

Her mother gave her an infuriatingly knowing look, and laughed. "Well, he must be a smart young man. He knows the way to my daughter's heart is through a book."

Hermione blushed even more, giving her mother the wrong idea yet again. Finally, frustrated, she said, "It's from one of my professors."

"Oh," her mother said, "well then, let's have a look."

Sighing, she handed her mother the book, but not the parchment.

"It's a lovely book," the older woman commented, after flicking through it briefly. "I wasn't aware teachers gave their students Christmas gifts, though."

"It's from Professor Snape," Hermione explained. "Remember how I said I'd been working with him?"

"Yes," her mother said slowly.

"Well, the book is about one of the things we've been working on."

"Oh, I see," her mother said, handing the book back to Hermione. "Well, you'd better write and thank him, then. It was a nice thought."

Hermione had the distinct impression there was something her mother wasn't saying, and she was right, as it turned out.

They were in the kitchen that night, washing the dishes after a wonderful Christmas dinner, when Jane Granger brought the subject up again.

"I had a crush on one of my professors at university."

Hermione stared at her mother, who gave her that same, knowing look again.

"Oh, come on, darling," her mother chided her, "there's no shame in admitting you have a crush on a teacher. We've all been there."

"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed, flushing crimson enough to match the silly Christmas hat she wore.

"Denial will get you nowhere," she said, in a sing-song voice.

Hermione stared at her mother again, not because the idea was so far-fetched, but because the woman, whom she hadn't seen for the better part of two years, had just picked up on feelings she was hardly able to admit to herself, let alone anyone else.

"Mum, you're talking about Professor Snape," Hermione pleaded. "Haven't I been telling you for years how nasty he is? Remember when he was so horrible about my teeth?"

"That was a few years ago, now," her mother reminded her. "I'd say everyone in your world has matured a bit since then. Besides, you could hardly stop talking about him on the way home the other day; how brilliant he is, how you wish Harry and Ron would have more respect for him."

"Am I that transparent?" she blurted out, suddenly mortified at the thought that someone else had been able to read into her feelings... especially a particular someone with the proven ability to read minds.

Mrs Granger smirked and shook her head. "Call it motherly intuition," she said. "I was right, wasn't I?"

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. "It's silly really," she murmured, trying to convince herself as much as her mother. "I just... he's so different when he's not in class, and he really is brilliant."

Her mother laughed. "So you've said."

Hermione blushed again.

"Just be careful," her mother cautioned, looking serious again.

"Oh, mum," she replied, "it's just a silly schoolgirl crush; I'll grow out of it. Besides, he'd never abuse his authority as a teacher, even if he did feel anything in return."

Hermione's mother nodded in agreement, and Hermione had almost convinced herself that what she had said was the truth... almost.

The following evening, after a pleasant day visiting relatives, Hermione was sitting in the lounge room with her parents. They were watching television, but Hermione was engrossed in the book Snape had sent her for Christmas. It was fascinating and she could hardly bear to put it down, keeping it shrunk in her pocket at all times, in case she had five minutes to spare.

It was getting late, though, and her eyes were feeling scratchy from reading for too long. She shrunk the book again, and, stretching stiffly, bid her parents goodnight, and headed across the room to the stairs.

She was halfway across the room when she heard, _Crack!_

She spun around at the unmistakable sound of someone Apparating into the lounge room, and found herself face to face with a tall black-robed, masked figure.

She backed away in terror. Her parents, behind the figure, had risen from their seats, but she knew there was nothing they could do. Stupidly, she realised, yet again, she'd left her wand in her room upstairs.

In the next instant, the figure tossed back his hood and ripped of his mask, and she nearly fainted with relief as she recognised the Potions master.

"Professor! What-"

"No time," he gasped. "They're coming for you. We have to go _now_."

Hermione's father, startled out of his stunned silence, strode forwards. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

Snape turned to the other occupants of the room. "Mr Granger, Mrs Granger," he said hurriedly. "I apologise, but there is no time to explain. Death Eaters will be here at any moment. We have to leave."

"I'm not leaving my house to those mongrels," Hermione's father spat angrily.

"Mum, Dad, you have to listen to him," Hermione implored, coming to stand beside Snape.

"If they find you here, they'll kill you," the Potions master added.

Suddenly realising the gravity of the situation, the Grangers nodded fearfully, and Snape pulled a pocket watch from within his robes. "This is a Portkey," he explained. "It will take you to a safe location. It's only strong enough to transport two people. I will follow momentarily with your daughter."

"I'm not going without Her-" Mrs Granger started to say, but Snape cut her off.

"There's no time," he said, his voice getting louder with every word. "They'll be here any second. You have to go _now_."

"Go," Hermione urged, taking the watch from Snape, placing it on her mother's open palm, and grabbing her father's hand to touch the object as well. Stepping back so as not to be caught in the spell herself, she mouthed, "I love you," silently to her parents, before the Portkey activated and they were gone.

"Come on," Snape said, reaching to take Hermione's arm.

"Wait," she cried. "My wand! It's upstairs!"

She made to retrieve it, but Snape stopped her.

"No time for that," he hissed. She tried to protest, but he raised his own wand, calling, "Accio Hermione's wand!"

The wand smacked into her hand a moment later, but in the same instant, there was another _Crack! _and they found themselves confronting the tall form of Lucius Malfoy.

"Shit," Snape muttered under his breath.

"My, my, Severus," he drawled. "You certainly didn't waste any time getting here. Hoping to have first pick at the spoils?"

Snape moved subtly to one side, putting himself between Hermione and Malfoy, as the blonde advanced on them across the room. For her part, Hermione clutched her wand tightly behind her back and retreated across the room in the opposite direction from Malfoy, still keeping Snape between herself and the Death Eater.

"It seems such a pity to kill her quickly," Malfoy continued, idly fingering the head of his cane, which she knew concealed his wand. "What's say we… play a little _game_ while we wait and see if those gutless wonders she calls friends will come to her aid."

Hermione raised her chin defiantly. "You'll be waiting a while. They don't even know you're here, and they'd never be fool enough to walk into such an obvious trap."

Lucius barked out a laugh, and Hermione shrank back into the far corner of the room as three more Death Eaters appeared in the room.

"Come now, Severus," Lucius drawled. "We can't let you have all the fun. Do be a sport; hand her over so we can all have a go."

Hermione let out the smallest sob, as Snape glanced over his shoulder to see where she was. She realised the precarious position he was in, the position _she_ had gotten him into by delaying their departure to retrieve her wand. She didn't see how he could refuse Malfoy's request without blowing his cover.

"Not this time, Lucius," he said in such a low voice, Hermione had to strain to hear him. "This one is not for you."

Malfoy's eyes darkened and his grip became tighter on the head of his cane.

"I beg your pardon?" he whispered malevolently.

For his part, Snape stood his ground.

"You know how precarious my position with Dumbledore is. I _cannot_ claim ignorance of a plan to attack the Head Girl, let alone Potter's best friend. If she dies, Dumbledore will not tolerate my presence any longer, and the Dark Lord will _not_ be impressed to lose his only spy and potions brewer. Are you prepared to take the blame for that, Lucius?"

The blonde's eyes narrowed further. "Do not presume to threaten me, my _friend_," he warned, putting a sick emphasis on his last word. "You are much more expendable than our Lord likes you to believe."

"Don't presume you know _all_ the Dark Lord's plans, Lucius," Snape hissed back. "The girl is far more useful than you would care to give a Mudblood credit for, and you would do well to leave her to me."

The Death Eaters behind Malfoy had drawn their wands, and Snape's eyes were darting from them back to the cane Lucius was holding.

Malfoy didn't say anything for a moment, and Snape took a couple of steps back towards Hermione, his eyes not leaving the black-robed figures in front of him.

"Stop." Hermione held her breath as, slowly, Malfoy withdrew his wand from his cane.

Snape did stop moving, but said in a low voice, "Hermione, walk towards me, but _stay behind me_."

Hesitating for only a moment, Hermione made a sudden movement, which startled Malfoy and cause him to turn his wand towards her. In the same instant, Snape whipped his own wand from the folds of his robes and fired a volley of spells at the three Death Eaters behind Malfoy.

Two lost their wands, while one crumpled to the ground under a jet of red light. Snape turned his wand on Malfoy, but the blonde had already fired off his own spell at his old friend.

Snape's wand flew from his fingers as he was flung back against the wall from the force of the spell, and Malfoy turned on Hermione, a feral glint in his eyes as he threw a binding spell in her direction.

She flung herself sideways at the last minute, the spell grazing past her arm as she ducked. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she recovered her balance and yelled, "_Expelliarmus!"_

Terror brought out the strength in her magic, and Malfoy flew across the room, crashing into the bookshelf and landing in a crumpled heap by the other Death Eaters, two of whom were picking themselves up off the floor near the kitchen doorway.

She turned to Snape, who had regained his feet.

"Get them!" Lucius shrieked, livid with rage. "Kill them both!"

Time seemed to move in slow motion as Snape rushed towards her. The Death Eaters recovered their wands and didn't hesitate to make good on Lucius' orders. Snape stumbled as another _Expelliarmus_ hit him, but he'd already lost his wand, so it made no difference.

Reaching Hermione, he grabbed her and pulled her to his body, enveloping her in the thick black robe and putting himself between her and the angry followers of Voldemort. She felt a shudder run through his body as a hex hit him in the back.

"_He can't Apparate us wandless,"_ she thought frantically. _He'll splinch us both._ A hex exploded in the wall next to them as Snape's hand found her wand, his fingers closing around her own on the handle, and she felt her magic rise up to meet his own, combining in the core of her wand to magnify their power.

Just before the dull lurch of Apparition tore her body from the room, she heard the Death Eaters let loose a volley of spells.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Then everything went black.

* * *

**To be continued**

_A/N: Yes, I know, another bloody cliffhanger. Next chapter will be up around Sunday. If you can't wait, it's already posted at OWL. See my profile for the link._

_Pir is the rune of protection from madness, wind and fire in Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea books. Coincidentally, upon doing some research, I discovered that in the Fae Alphabet, __the rune symbol for Pir is Eihwaz. This Rune is mentioned by Hermione in POA. She mistranslates Ehwaz (partnership) in her 3rd year Ancient Runes exam, confusing it with Eihwaz, which, according to JKR, means defence._

_Some of y__ou may have noticed a particular name change in this chapter. What was the mooncalf is now the moonfilly. This was done to keep the story in line with canon. All chapters have been updated to reflect this change, and a further explanation can be found back at the end of Chapter 7, in which the creature is first mentioned._


	16. Lucky Escape

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 16**

When Hermione came to, she was immediately aware of three things; the hardness of the surface she was lying on, a heavy weight across her legs, and the frantic, hysterical voice of her mother somewhere in the distance.

Groaning, she opening her eyes and tried to focus on something in the dimly lit room. She had no idea where she was.

Suddenly, her mother's voice became clearer and she found herself being shaken, hard, by the shoulders.

"Wha… what happened?" she mumbled blearily, trying to push the hands away.

"Darling? Hermione? Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

She blinked, and was finally able to focus on the terrified face of her mother and father, who both breathed a visible sigh of relief as she shook her head to clear it.

"I'm okay," she said, as it suddenly all came rushing back to her. "I'm fine. Where's Professor Snape?"

She struggled to sit up, fighting a wave of dizziness, the heavy weight still pinning her right leg to the hardwood floor. She made to push it off and froze; her stomach dropped. The heavy weight _was_ Professor Snape. He was splayed haphazardly across the floor, completely motionless.

"Professor!" she called urgently, her stomach clenching in fear as she remembered the barrage of spells cast at them as they had Apparated. She sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that the last one hadn't hit its mark. Managing to extract her leg from under his own, she knelt by his side. Her parents watched fearfully as, with some difficulty, she gently turned him onto his back, noting the ragged hole in the back of his robes where a hex had burnt through.

His face was unmarked, his eyes closed, and she hesitated only a moment before pushing the high collar of his shirt aside to find the pulse point on his neck. It was there, quick and strong

"I think he's just been Stunned," she said with relief. She searched the floor around them for her wand, eventually finding it still clasped firmly in Snape's hand. She extracted it from his fingers and, taking a deep breath, cast, _"Enervate."_

There was a frightening moment when nothing happened, before Snape opened his eyes and coughed weakly.

"Professor?" she said softly.

His gaze turned to her and he blinked, trying to clear his vision.

"Miss Granger," he said, as he got to his feet a little unsteadily, pulling off his heavy Death Eater cloak and tossing it to the floor. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and he turned to her parents, standing uncertainly in the centre of the room and looking slightly dishevelled from their Portkey journey. Glancing around for the first time, Hermione realised the room was not only empty, but also windowless, lit by some unseen, magical source.

"Mr and Mrs Granger," he said. "I apologise for my abruptness, however it was absolutely imperative to get you away from your home as soon as possible. I don't know how much your daughter has told you of-"

"We know what would have happened," Hermione's mother interrupted quietly, looking very shaken, and clutching her husband's hand. "We've been reading the _Daily Prophet_ for the last three years."

Snape seemed to exhale a breath at the prospect of not having to explain his actions to angry parents. Hermione bit her lip worriedly, though, as her father stepped up to her teacher.

"What I don't understand," Alan Granger said in a tight voice, "is how _you_ knew they were coming, and why you were dressed like one of them."

Snape glanced at Hermione in askance, and she, understanding his unspoken question, silently shook her head; she'd told her parents nothing of the Order, or the war, beyond what was reported in the _Prophet_.

"Dad," Hermione sighed. "Maybe I should explain-"

"No, allow me to explain, Miss Granger," Snape cut her off, "but first, perhaps you would care to move to a slightly more comfortable room."

Hermione and her parents both stared blankly at the empty walls of the room they were in, wondering how that was going to be possible.

"If you'll follow me," Snape said, striding to one wall, in which a door materialised as he approached. He led them down a short hallway and a flight of stairs into a small sitting room. The walls were white-washed and devoid of portraits, the monotony only broken by a small fireplace and worn, wooden mantle.

There was a sharp _Crack!_ and for a moment, Hermione feared the other Death Eaters had somehow followed them, but she turned around to see a House Elf standing before Snape, wearing a very neat tea towel and wringing its little hands.

"Master Snape!" it squeaked. "You is not telling me you is coming, and bringing guests! Kimby has not made house proper for guests!"

Hermione looked at Snape in surprise. She had assumed he had brought them to a safehouse used by the Order. She hadn't guessed it would be how own home, though. She listened interestedly to what Snape was saying to the Elf, surprised, again, by the civil tone with which he addressed the creature.

"There is no need to worry, Kimby," he said. "We shan't be staying long. You may bring us some tea."

The Elf nodded vigorously and disappeared with a _pop_.

A fire sprang up in the grate, and Snape gestured to the couch and armchairs, spread in a rough semi-circle facing the hearth. A moment later, a silver tea tray appeared on the coffee table in front of the couch. Once they were all seated, Snape proceeded to explain, as briefly as possible, how he'd come to learn of tonight's events.

The Grangers were silent for most of his explanation, until Hermione's mother commented at the end, "Why Hermione? What did she do to deserve this?"

"Mum," she said. "Haven't you been listening to anything Professor Snape has said? This isn't about revenge. They lust for power and domination, and they'll dispose of anyone who threatens their dogma or dares to stand in their way. This isn't about what I've _done_; it's who I _am_."

Snape cleared his throat. "That's not strictly correct, Miss Granger."

She stared at him. "What do you mean? You're the one who told me-"

He held up his hand. "That is part of their reasoning," he conceded. "However, you are also a friend of Potter, which makes you a target, if only to hurt him, and, for reasons unknown, the Dark Lord has become aware that you are working with me."

Hermione blanched, her mother looked confused, but her father sat forward in his seat, eyes flashing.

"Do you mean to tell me," he said in a low voice, "that _you_ – a teacher charged with protecting my daughter – have brought this upon us yourself?"

"Dad!" Hermione exclaimed, but Snape silenced her with a look.

"Mr Granger," he said levelly, though Hermione could see the vein in his temple pulsing with anger at her father's allegation. "I will not deny that this situation has arisen partly as a result of your daughter working with me. However, in _no way_ did I intend to put her in danger. There are extenuating circumstances we have no control over, which led to the altercation tonight. There is someone within the Order of the Phoenix passing information to the other side, and it because of that the Death Eaters had knowledge of your daughter working with me, and made her a target of their attack."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as her father sat back, his temper abating somewhat.

"I don't understand," said her mother. "If they think Hermione has been helping you, why would they want to kill her?"

Snape massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingers before he spoke. "They had no intentional of killing your daughter tonight, Mrs Granger."

"What?" said Hermione, startled. "But Malfoy was-"

"Malfoy serves his own agenda, as much as the Dark Lord's," Snape said derisively. "Something which, thankfully, will make it easier for me to explain my actions tonight. As I have said, the Dark Lord knows you are close to Potter. Somehow, he also knows you have more respect for me than most of your peers do, and wants me to use that. He believes, if you come to trust me enough, I will be able to gain information from you about Potter, and report to him."

"Oh." Hermione thought on what Snape had said, and it made sense, but what did it have to do with tonight?

Anticipating her question, Snape, his head bowed, said, "He believed that your trust – or perhaps gratitude would be a better word - would be gained tonight, if I arrived in time to save you. _Only you_."

"Oh, God," Hermione's mother whispered, only now realising just how close to death they had been.

Voldemort had planned to kill her parents, believing, in her despair, she would be pushed closer to Snape. Her gratitude to him for saving her own life, and his remorse at failing to save her parents, giving her cause to turn to him. She would seek comfort and guidance from the only other person who understood what she was going through, and he, seeking her forgiveness, would listen and guide her, gaining information about Harry to be passed on to Voldemort in the process.

Hermione looked at her parents, both sitting, pale-faced, on the couch. Her father's expression changed from one of shock to resolve, and he stood up and crossed to stand in front of Snape.

Snape, too, rose from his chair, unsure what the older man's reaction would be.

"It would seem," Mr Granger said, clearing his throat, "that I owe you an apology for my earlier assumption; and more so, we owe you thanks for our lives." He extended a hand to a surprised Snape, who eyed the older man for a moment before returning the handshake with his own, firm grip.

Hermione's mother, too, rose from the couch and clasped Snape's hand in her own, whispering her own thanks softly.

Snape looked vaguely uncomfortable with the attention, and simply muttered something about it being, "Unthinkable not to act on such knowledge."

That wasn't true, though, Hermione suddenly realised. He hadn't acted on pure knowledge. She remembered what he had said to her, weeks and weeks ago, before they had begun working together, _"I was there. I knew about it an hour before it happened and I did nothing to save them. I didn't cast a Killing Curse, but I stood by and watched as others did."_

Why had he not stood by and watched tonight, stepping in at the last minute to save her, as Voldemort had planned? What had prompted him to risk everything, his position in Voldemorts ranks, and his own life, to save the Muggle parents of one student?

Not to say that she wasn't grateful; she didn't know how she would ever be able to repay the Potions master for his selfless act. But what had Dumbledore told her about war? _Life is a precious thing, but sacrificing one life for the continuation of our cause has been necessary in the past, and will become so again._

If Snape's position with the Death Eaters was put in jeopardy because of his decision, would the Headmaster believe his actions were worth the consequences? If it had been anyone but Hermione's own parents, would she, herself, have believed saving two Muggles' lives was worth blowing the cover of their spy? Disquieting as it was, her answer would have been no.

She realised she had been lost in thought for some time, and Snape was still speaking her parents.

"-much left to discuss," he was saying, "however I think it best to wait until the Headmaster arrives. He is no doubt aware of the situation, and will be here as soon as practicable."

"When will we be able to return home?" Mrs Granger asked.

Snape hesitated, and Hermione saw understanding come into her mother's eyes. She'd seen the photos in the newspaper; the Death Eaters didn't just kill, they _destroyed_.

"Let's not jump to any conclusions until we have the facts," Snape cautioned. "It will be safest for you to remain here until the Headmaster arrives. I shall show you to a room where you may take some rest, if you wish."

The Potions master snapped his fingers and Kimby appeared again.

"Yes, master?" it said.

"Take the guests upstairs," Snape instructed. "Show them to the guest rooms and provide them with whatever they need."

He turned to Hermione and her parents. "I know sleep will hardly be forthcoming, given the circumstances," he said, "however it has been a trying evening. I suggest you try to get some rest."

Hermione's parents extended their thanks once again, and turned to follow the House Elf upstairs. Hermione hesitated, meaning to thank Snape herself, but found herself lost for words. Her throat suddenly felt rather tight, and all she could manage was a grateful smile, to which Snape nodded, before she turned to follow her family.

* * *

Upstairs, Kimby led the Grangers to a simple room with two twin beds, a small desk, and two armchairs. The fire was lit and room seemed cosy enough.

"This is your room, sir and madam," the elf squeaked politely. "You lets Kimby know if you be needing anything. Tea, biscuits, extra blankets." It turned to address Hermione. "You is next door, Miss. You lets Kimby know if you be needing anything, also."

"Thank you, Kimby," Hermione said kindly. The elf's huge eyes widened at the expression of gratitude, and it disappeared with a pop.

Hermione turned to her parents, waiting only a moment before embracing them both in a fierce hug.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered into her mother's jumper. "This is all my fault. I-"

"No," her mother said firmly. "Hermione, it isn't. You said yourself: it's what you are. You can't change that."

"But if I wasn't..." she trailed off. If she wasn't a witch, if she wasn't Harry's friend, if she wasn't such a stubborn, persistent Gryffindor, perhaps none of this would have come to pass.

"There are some things you can't change, Hermione," her father said gravely. "And some things you can't control. The only people responsible for what has happened tonight is that evil wizard and his followers; no one else, least of all you."

She wiped her eyes and met her father's own, seeing the sincerity in his gaze, He wasn't just saying empty words to make her feel better, and it did put her mind to rest, a little.

"But our house," she whispered. "It's... what if they've..."

"Houses can be replaced, Hermione," her mother reassured her. "Everything that made it a home is in this room."

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," Hermione murmured. "Others haven't been so lucky as us in the past. Professor Snape risked a lot to save us tonight."

"He seems like a complicated man," Mrs Granger said.

Hermione looked at her mother. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing really, dear," she said. "We're very grateful to him, and he seemed affable enough tonight, but after seeing him dressed up at one of _them_… well, appearances can be deceiving, can't they?"

Hermione stared at her mother, unsure exactly what she was trying to say. Did she see some ulterior, selfish motive behind Snape's actions, or was she merely saying, as Hermione had discovered herself, there was more to her teacher than met the eye?

"He's just... don't judge him on what he has to do, Mum," she said finally. "He's not what he seems."

She left her parents to get some rest, if they could, and closing the door behind her, she leant against the cool wood for a moment. Her head was spinning again, probably from a combination of Apparating, and the stress of the night's events. A movement out down the hall caught her eye, and she saw Snape emerge from another room, tucking a wand into his sleeve as he closed the door.

She wondered if he'd heard any of the conversation she'd just had with her parents, but if so, he gave no indication.

"Are you all right?" he asked, then sighed, closing his eyes. "Of course you're not all right. Forgive me, it was a daft question."

She gave him a small smile and walked over to where he stood.

"I'm better than I would have been," she said quietly, "had you not intervened tonight. How can I ever thank you?"

"Thanks are not required," he said, in that stiff way she'd become used to whenever he was uncomfortable.

"No," she said softly. "But they are deserved, nonetheless."

He stared down at her, his expression unreadable. "You should get some rest," he said at length, stepping past her in the narrow hall to make for the stairs. She caught his hand as he brushed past her, bringing him up short.

He turned to face her again, and before he could protest, she released his hand and wrapped her arms around his back instead, pulling him quickly into a hug.

"Thank you," she whispered into the scratchy wool of his frock coat.

He stiffened initially in her embrace, but then she felt him exhale a breath and relax. His own arms came around her hesitantly, one hand resting lightly on the small of her back, the other against the mass of curls at the nape of her neck. Just for an instant, she thought she felt him lean his chin on the top of her head, before he pulled away, his arms sliding from her back to her shoulders.

She looked up, slightly awkward after her bold display of affection, but any regret disappeared as she met his eyes. There was no discomfort, no trace of derision or an attempt to, yet again, push her away. They were filled with only warmth, concern and sincerity.

"I never did get the opportunity to thank you, either," he said, and, at her look of confusion, elaborated, "for your Christmas gift."

"Oh," she smiled shyly. "Did you like it?"

"Very much," he said. "It was both thoughtful and unexpected."

She smiled more openly, and replied, "As was yours. Thank you, sir."

It seemed he was about to say something else, for he opened his mouth, then closed it again, letting his hands drop from where they still rested on her shoulders.

"You really should get some rest," he offered again.

She shook her head, the reality of the situation once again weighing on her mind. "I don't think I could sleep," she murmured. "There's too much going through my head right now. When will Dumbledore be here?"

"Hopefully by morning," he replied, then, after a pause, "Would you like something to drink? Perhaps some tea? It might help you sleep."

She nodded gratefully, and followed him downstairs to kitchen, which vaguely resembled the one at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, with it's long wooden table down the centre of the room.

"This is your home, then?" she asked, as he withdrew the wand she'd seem him tuck up his sleeve earlier and conjure a steaming pot of tea.

"It is my house," he said, retrieving two tea cups from a cupboard, and beckoning her follow him into the lounge. "I wouldn't go so far as to call it a home. I've spent, perhaps, three weeks here in the past twenty years, but it is Unplottable, and has proven to be a useful safehouse."

He offered her a cup of tea, and taking one himself, sat at one end of the couch. Hermione, shivering from either cold or nerves – she couldn't tell – sat at the other end of the couch, facing the Potions master with her legs tucked up underneath her.

They say in silence for some time, sipping tea and staring into the dancing flames of the fire.

"Can I ask you something, sir?" she said, placing her empty cup back on the coffee table.

Instead of his usual 'if I say no, you'll ask anyway' retort, he cleared his throat again and set his own cup on the table, too.

"I think," he said slowly, "you may call me Severus, if you wish."

She turned to look at him, still staring pensively into the fireplace.

"That is if you want to," he continued, a little uncomfortably. "I thought... our friendship... should be on equal terms, and given that you had asked me to call you by your given name..." he trailed off.

Hermione turned to sit properly on the couch; she, too, staring into the fire. She could sense Snape's stillness next to her, almost as if he was holding his breath, waiting for her to respond.

"Thank you," she said, and then added hesitantly, "S- Severus."

She saw Snape relax, just minutely, and she said it again, softly, testing it out, getting used to the way it rolled off her tongue.

"I like it," she said finally, stretching her arms above her head and propping her feet on the coffee table.

Snape turned to favour her with a raised eyebrow. "You think that gives you leave for such impudence?" he asked, gesturing to her feet. "I'll have you know that coffee table is over two hundred years old."

"Oops." She giggled, removing her feet, and tucked her legs up under her on the couch again.

Somewhere in the course of the manoeuvre, she found herself closer to Snape – Severus? No, that would still take some getting used to - than before, their shoulders almost touching. He didn't comment, and again, silence fell upon the room.

"What's going to happen to my parents?" she asked quietly, after a while. "They're not going to be able to go home again, are they?"

She felt, rather than saw, him shake his head, and she sank down into the soft couch, bowing her head so her hair fell forwards, hiding the tears that had come into her eyes. She'd known, from the moment Snape had appeared in the Granger's lounge room, that life would never be quite the same for her parents again, but having conformation from Snape drove the stark reality of her thoughts home. Despite what her parents said, how could she not blame herself, partly, at least?

"No," Snape said regretfully. "I'm afraid that will be out of the question." His voice seemed closer, and she realised he had turned to look down at her where she sat, arms crossed, head bowed. She shivered.

Snape raised his arm to pull out his wand, and magicked another log onto the fire, mistaking her shiver for one of only coldness, not a mixture of that and fear. Hermione took the opportunity to move a little closer to his side, seeking both warmth and comfort. He didn't push her away, and she leant into him, closing her eyes and inhaling the earthy scent that hung about him, like a forest after rain.

She shivered again, and his arm rested lightly on her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. She could feel the warmth of his body through the wool of his frock coat, and felt her eyelids growing heavier as a strange sense of wellbeing, false as it was, came over her.

"'s comfy," she murmured sleepily, and felt, rather than heard the rumbling vibration of his voice as he answered, his breath warm on the top of her head. What his words were, though, she couldn't make out, and in the next moment, she was asleep.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. You really didn't think I would hurt Snape did you? I just like playing with him._

_What was to be Chapter 15 now appears to be spread over Chapter 15, 16 and 17. This story was originally supposed to be four chapters in total. Ha. _


	17. Points of View

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_A/N: As you will no doubt realise, there is something a little different about this chapter... further explanation at the end._

**Chapter 17**

Severus Snape glanced down at the bushy head that had somehow worked its way against his side. Its owner was leaning fully against him and emitting soft snores, exhaustion from the night's events finally taking over.

He didn't know what had possessed him to remain still when she had first shifted closer to him on the couch, nor what part of his brain had been giving orders when he'd put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer still.

It occurred to him that perhaps his brain hadn't been the part of his body giving the orders at all. He pushed that thought away quickly, cursing himself for letting his mind wander to such an end. What was he thinking? Her parents were upstairs and the Headmaster could arrive at any moment, possibly through the fireplace in the lounge room rather than the Arrival Room upstairs.

Carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping girl, he extricated himself from his position, lowering her gently to lay fully the couch. She murmured something unintelligible, but did not wake. He frowned, magicking a cushion under her head so she wouldn't wake with a stiff neck, and she shifted, wrapping her arms more tightly around her torso.

It _was_ cold, he decided, even with the fire still burning. He glanced around the room looking for something suitable to transfigure into a blanket, but came up short. It wasn't surprising that the room was so barren, given how much time he did, or rather didn't, spend there.

Sighing, he pulled off his frock coat and transfigured it, draping the resulting blanket over Hermione's sleeping form. She was still snoring softly, a lock of hair which had fallen over her face shifting with each breath. He reached out to brush it aside but pulled his hand back quickly before he made contact.

_What am I doing?_ he thought, turning away from the girl and striding into the kitchen. He rummaged through the disused cupboards until he came up with a very old, half-empty bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. A search for a suitable glass resulted in nothing, so he poured a small measure of the liquid into a coffee cup, knocking it back in a single gulp.

It was probably foolish to start drinking at a time like this. Another meeting with the Dark Lord was imminent, and he still felt slightly nauseous from both the Apparition and the spell residue that had passed through his body as they left the Granger's. If they had hesitated for a fraction of a second the Unforgivable would have hit him. As it was, the spell passed through the space he had occupied, and the residue that clung to the last particles of his body to leave the house left him with reduced side effects of the full spell. He wondered that Hermione hadn't expressed discomfort, too. Perhaps he had managed to shield her from the brunt of the curse. Though, with the confusion of emotions she was no doubt feeling after the events of the night, it wasn't surprising she hadn't noticed she was feeling physically sick. He glanced through the half-open door, and could just make out the top of her bushy head over the arm-rest of the couch. She was still asleep.

The realisation of just how surely and subtly the Granger girl had worked her way into his life was startling… and disturbing. Growing up in a small family, Severus Snape had never been one to wish himself surrounded by a lot of people. The raucous corridors and loud Slytherin common room at Hogwarts had been a shock for a young boy used to solitude and silence, and he had taken refuge in the library from his first day onwards.

Now, as a man, he sought solitude for different reasons. He had made the mistake of openly displaying his feelings in youthful exuberance, and had paid dearly for it, as had the recipient of his affections. He had vowed never to allow someone so close again, lest they suffer the same fate. He had enough innocent, nameless blood on his hands without that of people he knew adding to the stains.

And yet this girl – or young woman, though he didn't dare acknowledge that fact in case his thoughts led him astray - had worked her way into his life so unexpectedly, he'd risked all tonight... and not even to save her, only people who mattered to her, yet meant nothing to him.

Did he truly care about her enough that he had acted to save her from the emotional anguish of losing her parents? As much as it disturbed him, it was true. In saving her own life, he could have told himself he did it out of his own selfish need... but that need had not required him to save her parents... Muggles.

He had hated Dumbledore for forcing them to work together, and hated her for her easy acceptance of the situation. He didn't want an assistant and he most certainly didn't need a nursemaid. So, in his usual manner, he had sneered, snarled and insulted her at every turn, waiting to throw down her wand and storm from his laboratory, swearing to the Headmaster that she couldn't work with such a cruel, unpleasant git.

She hadn't, though; she'd taken each insult in her stride. Like the determined Gryffindor she was, she'd chipped away at the persona he had carefully constructed, so gradually that he had hardly noticed until the first time it lay shattered, the last shreds of it torn away by a healing hand and soothing touch late one night in the Headmaster's office. It had unnerved him how easily she had deconstructed his shields. Was he so touched-starved that a simple outreaching of kindness was all it took to break him?

No, that wasn't it. Anyone else's touch wouldn't have affected him so. There was just something about this young Gryffindor, something intangible that made him take a second look at her, attempt to look beyond the insufferable know-it-all he had always proclaimed her to be.

When he did look, he saw someone like himself, in a way, yet also completely different. Her yearning for knowledge matched his own, and he'd been pleasantly surprised to realise her intelligence went far beyond being able to recite the set textbooks. He'd have realised it sooner, of course, had she not been a Gryffindor. He recognised now that her over-enthusiasm had been borne from a need to fit in, to prove herself in the world in which some were still telling her she didn't belong.

Unlike him, she had a close-knit group of friends. Instead of setting her apart, her bookish attitude endeared her to them, and their loyalty to one another knew no bounds. How different might his own life have been if he'd had friends such as them... such as her?

_She considers herself to be your friend_, he reminded himself, wondering how it had come to that. It was his own doing, really. Once he'd gotten over his initial frustration at her refusal to be phased by him, he'd actually taken it upon himself to teach her. Potions was a compulsory subject and most of the dunderheads neither wanted nor deserved to be there. Why should he not take pleasure in teaching one of the few students who actually wanted to learn?

The incident with Goyle had frightened him as much as it had her, and again, he'd tried to blame her association with him for the conflict. The Headmaster wouldn't hear of them parting ways, though, and out of concern for her safety, he'd agreed to allow her to use the secret passage to the lab via his quarters. That had been his undoing. It had given her a way not only into his work, but also his life, and she had taken it as a sign of his acceptance.

Surprisingly, she understood his sarcastic sense of humour and returned as good as she gave. The cauldron explosion and the retaliatory Canary Cream incident in early December had been the first time he had laughed – really and truly laughed – in a good long while, and it was disquieting to realise how much he was enjoying her company.

It was then he began to push her away again, only this time it wasn't because he didn't want her near him, it was because he _did._ She was frequenting the lab more and more often, even on days outside their arranged schedule. The final straw for him was when he found himself looking at the clock and listening for the soft click of the door as she let herself into his sitting room; the rustle when she hung her cloak on the peg, and the quiet greeting as she entered the lab.

He took her to visit the moonfilly that night. She had proven herself to be both prudent and capable. She would need to know how to collect the ingredients, if he could not do so himself.

A mention of his Dark Mark was all it took to bring reality crashing back down. He'd allowed her too close, taking her on an expedition to meet a creature that he'd promised solitude, showing her a side of him he never wanted anyone to see. He didn't need an assistant, a companion, a friend, and what he _wanted_ was immaterial. She was too intelligent and useful to risk getting any closer to him, he decided, quashing the voice in his head that told him he cared about her too much to put her at risk.

He'd lashed out verbally, and for the first time in a long while she'd taken his words to heart. He broke a set of crystal phials when she left; shattered a shelf of beakers when he found himself listening for her again the following day. She didn't come, and he thought he'd finally succeeded in driving her away. The sense of loss was tangible.

That night, after the Dark Lord had forced his own potion down his throat, was the first and only time Severus Snape would ever applaud Gryffindor loyalty and bravery. She had ventured into his chambers even after such harsh parting words from him the previous day, purely out of concern for his well-being. His feeble attempts to push her away that night were no longer out of concern for her safety; he'd resigned himself to the fact that she was there to stay. Her cool hands and gentle voice made him set aside his reservations, giving in to her ministrations with only half-hearted protests. It had been a long time since anyone had shown concern for his injuries, let alone a wish to heal them. Perhaps in this little Gryffindor, who was brave enough to venture back into his lair after his abhorrent behaviour, he had discovered a true and loyal friend.

The following morning had been awkward; in the daylight, he berated himself for both his physical and mental weakness the night before. Their argument after he found her asleep in his sitting room had been heated, but if the truth was known, he had argued with her more out of embarrassment than any real desire to continue pushing her aside. He hated anyone seeing him in such a weakened, helpless state as he was the previous night, but she had handled the situation with grace and compassion, and known when to step back and give him space, though she'd remained nearby.

He'd finally given in and admitted aloud what he'd been trying not to acknowledge for weeks; she truly was the kind of person he could consider a friend... he _did_ consider her a friend. The smile that broke out on her face at his admission gave him an uncomfortable ache somewhere in the middle of his chest, in a place he thought he had starved into permanent numbness.

He had been stunned to receive a Christmas present from her, let alone one so thoughtful and practical. It wasn't merely a courtesy gesture on receipt of his present, but a genuine gift from one friend to another.

And then there had been the summons. Unwelcome, though not unexpected. The Dark Lord took particular pleasure in disrupting holidays, destroying families in the little time they spent together during the year.

His blood had run cold as Lucius had outlined his plan; win the girl's trust by slaying her parents, and having him rescue her from certain death at the last minute. How many times had he stood in the circle of Death Eaters, listening to such plans, and done nothing. How many times had he stood by while the masked men cast the Killing Curse on innocent Muggle-borns and their families? Was tonight any different?

As far as his work for the Order was concerned, no. Another attack, another unlucky family lost to the Dark Lord's regime. It was unfortunate but necessary, since their only spy couldn't risk exposure by sending a warning.

He couldn't explain what had prompted him to act so irrationally. He hadn't given a thought to how he would explain his actions to Dumbledore, let alone the Dark Lord. The only thought in his mind was that she would be hurt - emotionally, if not physically.

He would have just let it happen to anyone else; he could deal with his own demons, the dark looks, the cold shoulders and the constant mistrust from his colleagues. The thought of seeing her weighed down with guilt and grief, though, was something Severus Snape didn't think he could handle. It was only in that moment he realised she truly _was_ his friend. He risked his life daily, but for whom but a friend would he discount explicit orders from _both_ his masters, putting himself and their very _cause_ in jeopardy to save her from hurt?

It had been an unthinkably stupid act, he realised, dropping his head into his hands. Dumbledore would understand his motivations for acting… he hoped. The Dark Lord was another story. As if on cue, his Dark Mark began twinging uncomfortably, signalling that his master was aware of his actions and would be expecting an explanation in the near future.

He sighed, poured another inch of Firewhisky into the coffee cup, and slugged it back in a single gulp as he heard the whoosh of the Floo in the next room signal the Headmaster's arrival.

* * *

Hermione woke, disorientated for a moment, before realising she was curled up on the couch in the sitting room of Snape's house. It was still dark outside; the only light and warmth in the room was coming from the fireplace, where a lone log was crackling quietly and glowing a deep orange, throwing sinister shadows across the room.

Sitting up, she found herself ensconced in a soft, brown blanket. She frowned. Where had that come from?

Thinking for a minute, the conversation with the Potions master came back to her. She remembered her eyelids becoming heavier, and sleep finally taking over. Had she been dreaming when she'd leant into him and he'd placed his arm around her shoulders? No, because she could still smell the earthy scent of his robes, and recall the vibration of his voice as he spoke.

The fear she'd felt earlier in the evening and the concern for what would happen next - to herself and her parents - had taken it's toll. The comfort of a warm body next to her had made her feel safe, and allowed her exhaustion to overcome her worry. _I must have fallen asleep on him,_ she thought, mortified.

Turning back to the present, she heard low voices coming from beyond the kitchen door. She could hear Snape's low baritone speaking urgently, and the unmistakable sound of the Headmaster's voice respond.

Standing up, though still wrapped in the warm blanket, something made her creep quietly across the room to the door rather than allow her footsteps to announce her presence. The voices became clearer, and she peered cautiously through the gap in the door.

Both teachers were seated at the long, low kitchen table. Dumbledore's back was facing the door, but Snape was sitting in profile, dressed in shirt-sleeves, his head in his hands.

Hermione glanced down at the blanket wrapped around her shoulders again, and brought a corner of it to her nose. No wonder she could still smell his scent. The blanket _was_ his frock coat. He must have transfigured it after she'd fallen asleep. She wrapped it more tightly around herself, smiling slightly.

The kitchen was lit by a single candle in the middle of the table, which spluttered as Snape raised his head and exhaled a deep breath. The light threw most of his face into shadow, and the dark smudges under his eyes startled Hermione. She wasn't the only one who was near-exhaustion after the events of the night, and she wondered if the Potions master had slept at all. It was unlikely, knowing him as she did.

"Dammit, Albus," Snape said, "you assured me she would be in no more danger working with me than she already was as a friend of Potter's. I must have been a fool to believe our association would go unnoticed."

"We don't have any reason to believe she wasn't already a target," the Headmaster reasoned. "Don't try to use this as an excuse to discontinue working with Miss Granger, Severus."

"Excuse?" Snape exclaimed. "For crying out loud, Albus, the girl was a wands-width away from being murdered! It's a bit late for excuses, don't you think? The Dark Lord knows she is working closely with me and is determined to use our association to his own ends. If she must continue working with me, at least tell me _why_ you're so insistent about pushing us together."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Severus," the Headmaster said.

"Don't try to play innocent with me, old man." Hermione was startled at the tone with which Snape was addressing the Headmaster. "I've been around you long enough to know there's more to this than what you're telling me."

"I merely saw an opportunity and I took it," the Headmaster said mildly. "I think we have more pressing matters to discuss at the moment, such as how to keep Miss Granger's parents out of danger, and how you will explain your actions to Tom. Has he called you in the last few hours?"

"Yes," Snape said, absent-mindedly rubbing his forearm through his shirt. "It has not yet become unbearable. He has realised I will have been tied up for some hours, explaining the situation to you. For the moment he is just reminding me that he's not happy and will be wanting his own explanation soon."

Hermione felt a sense of renewed terror at the thought of Snape returning to explain his actions to Voldemort. His former master would be furious. Would he even bother to listen to any explanation, or would he kill his wayward servant on the spot? From what she'd read and heard, Voldemort's impulse control was not spectacular, and when angered, who knew what he would do?

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness overcame her, and she reached out to grab the doorframe for support. Her arm bumped the door and it squeaked on its hinges, announcing her presence to Snape and Dumbledore, who had been sitting in momentary silence.

She stepped into the room, still grasping to door for support, trying to look as though she hadn't been standing and listening for some time.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Granger?" the Headmaster questioned, looking at her concernedly.

She felt Snape's gaze on her as she made her way around the table slowly, sitting opposite the Headmaster.

"I was feeling sick earlier," she murmured, "but I thought I was just a bit overwhelmed by the whole situation. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

"I think not," replied Snape. "More likely you are suffering the residual effects of the curses we very narrowly avoided."

"_I_ avoided," she countered dryly. "You weren't so lucky."

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow at Snape, and Hermione realised he hadn't told Dumbledore everything that had occurred.

"Nothing permanently damaging," he said, giving Hermione a dark look.

"Hmm," said the Headmaster, frowning at Severus before he looked back to Hermione. "Perhaps something to drink may help?"

She eyed the bottle of Firewhisky on the table and glanced back to Dumbledore, one eyebrow raised.

"Something a little lighter, I think," he said. "Would you care for some tea?"

She shook her head. "Actually, I'm not sure I could keep anything down right now," she said, lowering her head into her hands.

"A Stomach Calming Draught won't help, unfortunately," Snape spoke up again, "although sleeping will have helped it. You should be free of any nausea in a few hours."

"Why is it that I'm affected and you're not," she muttered, and it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Who says I'm not?" he returned. "I merely decline to display my afflictions for others to take advantage of."

There was a sneer in his words, but Hermione took no offence. She forgot, sometimes, how good he was at hiding things.

_Some things_, she corrected, for at that moment, Snape hissed and grasped his arm, standing abruptly.

"I have to go," he bit out through clenched teeth. "He's getting impatient. I daren't anger him by keeping him waiting any longer."

The Headmaster nodded.

Snape glanced at Hermione before turning to leave the room.

"Sir, wait!" Hermione said suddenly, jumping up from the table. The blanket fell from her shoulders and the Potions master paused in the doorway. She crossed the room to stand in front of him, aware of the Headmaster watching the scene with interest.

"I..." Snape was watching her warily, and she realised she should be careful what she said in front of Dumbledore. "I just wanted to say thank you and... I hope it..." She sighed, and extended her hand to the Potions master. "Good luck, sir."

Snape eyed her contemplatively, before he clasped her hand briefly in his own.

A moment later, he was gone.

* * *

**To be continued**

_As you've probably gathered, this is the first time I've used Snape POV in this story. I decided it was time for him to have his say on some things, and there are events taking place in the story from now on that are not done justice merely from Hermione's POV. Please let me know if you like the change or not!_

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. The next chapter is completely written (and already posted on OWL – see my profile page for the link) but it won't be posted here until after July 10th, since I'll be away from home and without internet access until then._

_A couple of people have reviewed or emailed me regarding problems reading the next chapter on OWL – the higher (R) rating of the next chapter requires you to be logged in. _Please_ make sure you type your email address correctly on the registration page, as you need the activation email that will be sent to complete registration and continue reading. If you are still having trouble, see the 'Help' link at the bottom of the main page, or click the Contact link for further assistance._


	18. Explanations

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 18**

The room felt strangely empty when Hermione turned back to the table and sat down again, noting the sadness in the eyes of the old man who sat opposite.

"Does it always feel like you're sending him to his death?" she asked quietly.

Dumbledore looked up with tired eyes and nodded. "I cannot count the number of times I've wish I didn't have to ask this of him any longer," he said with a sigh, "but it is a fool's hope. What life would he have if he failed to answer a summons? He would be branded a traitor, marked for death, and be forced to remain at Hogwarts for the rest of his life."

"He'd survive," Hermione commented, but the Headmaster shook his head.

"He told me once he'd rather die than have to live the rest of his life on another's terms. He said there's no such thing as partial freedom. You're either free, or not. He should know," he finished sadly. "It is I who have chained him these past twenty years."

"Chained him?" Hermione said incredulously. "You've given him the chance to win his freedom. Without your help, he would either be dead or in Azkaban."

"Yes," Dumbledore said heavily, "but perhaps the price I ask for his freedom is too high. After all, what is freedom if obtaining it means your death? His toils will all be for naught if his true loyalties are discovered before this war is over."

Hermione swallowed, hoping it would never come to that. "Do you think Voldemort will be angry after what happened tonight?"

"He will," Dumbledore confirmed, and Hermione drew in a breath.

"But," the Headmaster continued, "from what Severus has told me, Lucius Malfoy was acting outside of orders as well. Voldemort will remember that, and likely punish them both equally."

Hermione thought back to the last time Voldemort had 'punished' Snape, and her concern for the Potions master must have shown on her face.

"Do not worry about Severus, Miss Granger," Dumbledore added. "Voldemort is intent on obtaining a full batch of the Cruciatus potion. He will not hurt Severus so much that he cannot prepare it. Voldemort knows his Potions master needs steady hands."

It wasn't a particularly comforting thought, but it did make Hermione feel slightly less worried for Snape. Those worries were replaced at the forefront of her mind with thoughts of other matters.

"Now, to the matter at hand," said Dumbledore, anticipating the change in her train of thought. "What is to become of your parents."

"They can't return home, can they?" Hermione said softly, knowing the answer even as she spoke the question.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Upon your disappearance from your home, the Death Eaters took out their frustrations on the house itself. I'm afraid there is little that will be salvageable."

Hermione bowed her head, not trusting her voice to respond. Having lived away from her family for the better part of seven years, she wasn't as attached to their house as she might have been, but she knew her parents would be devastated. Despite what her mother said earlier that night, about family turning a house into a home, all the memories, all the records of their life together as a family, were in the house; photographs, books, those little knick-knacks that one would never throw away because they had some sentimental value. All they had left were the clothes on their backs and...

"Crookshanks!" Hermione gasped, the tears in her eyes suddenly spilling over. Her parents' new owl, Mercury, had been out hunting at the time of the attack, and she would undoubtedly find her owners as soon as they left the Unplottable house. In the terror of fleeing from the Death Eaters, though, her part-Kneazle had been forgotten.

"It's all right, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "I believe he was discovered by the Order member I sent to observe the Muggle authorities. He's quite safe, though he was more than a little reluctant to be sent back to Hogwarts without you."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. The ginger cat had been a part of her life for five years, and she couldn't imagine going to sleep at night without him lying across her feet at the end of the bed.

The conversation turned back to the fate of her parents.

"Where will they go?" she asked. "This has happened before, hasn't it? You have some sort of plan?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers under his chin. "I do not have a plan, as such, however I believe you have relatives in France, do you not?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, my aunt and her family. We visited them a few years ago over the summer." She paused. "Wait, you want to send my parents to _France_?"

"I believe it would be best for all concerned if they are outside the country. This was not a random attack, Miss Granger. Certain Death Eaters may be so enraged by your escape that they would make another attempt on your lives. There is little Death Eater activity in southern Europe, however," he continued. "I think it would be the safest place for your parents at this time."

"What about their jobs?" she asked, standing up to pace the length of the room. "They still have to earn a living. They run a practice; they have patients. They can't just up and leave!"

"Even if staying would cost them their lives?"

Hermione abruptly stopped pacing at the remark. She sighed, and sat down heavily on the wooden bench again.

"You're right," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I have to keep reminding myself that this isn't some 'what if' scenario anymore; we're actually talking in terms of people's lives."

The Headmaster simply said, "It's easy to underestimate the impact of one's actions, if the consequences are not immediately apparent."

Shaking off the feeling that the Headmaster was, once again, talking in double meanings, she asked, "When will they have to leave?"

"Tonight," the Headmaster replied. "Or should I say, this morning. A member of the Order will be here shortly to escort them to a safe house in London. From there they can contact your relatives and make any necessary arrangements, before leaving for France in a few days."

"Will I be able to go with them, for those few days?" she asked. She'd spent nearly a week at home and thought she'd be sick of the Muggle world by now, but after last night she felt compelled to spend more time with her parents, if only to try to make amends for something she would always blame herself for.

"I think it would be best if you returned to Hogwarts today, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said carefully. "I understand you want to spend time with your family, but I feel it would not be in the interests of your safety, nor theirs, for you to all stay in the one location."

"Oh," Hermione said quietly. She didn't see what difference another day or two with her family would make if they were in a safe house, but she knew better than to question Dumbledore's decision. "I suppose they should be told what's happening, though they're not going to like it. Shall I go and wake them, if they managed to sleep, that is?"

"Please, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "Bring them into the sitting room and I shall endeavour to explain everything."

As Hermione tramped up the stairs to the guest bedroom, she couldn't help but feel, yet again, like a chess piece being moved back and forth across the board by the gnarled white hand of the Headmaster.

* * *

Taking a moment to clear his mind, Severus Snape close his eyes, touched his wand to the Dark Mark that was now burning incessantly on his arm, and Apparated to the Dark Lord's location.

As he bowed his head and dropped to one knee in the expected prostration of servitude, he tried to assess his surroundings. He was outside, in a clearing surrounded with thick undergrowth and tall trees. There were two figures standing at the Dark Lord's side; the smug, poised form of Lucius Malfoy, and the snivelling, cowering shape of Peter Pettigrew. The latter was a constant presence at the Dark Lord's side, and his nervous laughter at inopportune moments left Snape itching to hex the repulsive creature into oblivion.

"Severus, how good of you to join us." The high, cold voice of his former master sent an involuntary chill down Severus' spine, and he mentally prepared himself to meet the Dark Lord's eyes.

"I apologise for keeping you waiting, my Lord," he murmured, not yet rising from his kneeling position. "The old fool was most distressed by the events of the past evening, and insisted upon my presence to deal with the girl and her parents."

"The parents who are supposed to be dead?" Malfoy spat.

"Silence, Lucius," the Dark Lord warned. "You also disobeyed my specific orders. Severus shall have the same opportunity to explain himself as I gave you."

Malfoy glared at Snape, saying nothing. Looking more closely, Snape noticed a sheen of sweat across the blonde's forehead, and a slightly dishevelled look about his person. The Dark Lord must have already punished Malfoy for his own disobedience last night.

"Speak, Severus," the Dark Lord continued, "but be warned. I do not take kindly to my servants acting to further their own agendas."

Pettigrew watched the confrontation, eyes wide with anticipation. The snivelling coward liked nothing more than a duel, as long as he wasn't involved. Severus took a deep breath and sent a silent message to whoever might be listening that the Dark Lord would accept his explanation.

Meeting the Dark Lord's eyes, he felt a prickling at the edges of his consciousness as his master entered his mind, and he began to speak, commending Lucius on his idea to use the Granger girl to gain information from Potter. He explained that the same idea had crossed his own mind when Dumbledore had first forced her assistance upon him.

"Why did you not speak of this earlier?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Snape said. "I was unsure whether I would be able to use her for information. I did not want offer such an idea to you until I was absolutely sure I would be able to gain her trust."

Malfoy scoffed, but the Dark Lord seemed to accept his explanation, and nodded for him to continue.

"I have made much progress lately," he continued, allowing images of their work together to float through his mind. He felt the Dark Lord sifting through the images, searching for anything amiss. He allowed a sneer onto his face as he said, "She thinks she has befriended me, that I consider her to be an equal."

Pettigrew snorted with laughter.

"I have humoured her, and given her no reason to suspect my loyalties lie anywhere but with Dumbledore. I have every reason to believe she trusts me completely. If last night's events proceeded as Lucius had planned, I believe it the loss of her parents would have been permanently detrimental to our relationship."

"That's rubbish," scorned Lucius. "She would have been _grateful_ to you for saving _her_ life."

"And blamed me for arriving too late to save her parents," Snape countered. "Now, she believes I have risked my own life to save her family, and as a result, her trust in me is unshakeable."

Hating himself for having to reveal it, he allowed the Dark Lord to glimpse the look of gratitude on Hermione's face as she embraced him in the dim hallway of his house, to hear her sigh of contentment as she leant into him for warmth and comfort in front of the fireplace.

There was silence, and Snape continued to feel the prickling sensation of the Dark Lord rummaging through his mind. He allowed random images to come to the forefront of his consciousness, as well as selective images of Hermione; brewing potions, eagerly perusing his bookshelf, taking his hand as he recounted the effects of the Cruciatus potion, her look of terror as he explained the plan to kill her parents.

After some time, Snape felt the Dark Lord withdraw from his mind, and he breathed a sigh of relief. His Occlumency shields were intact and the Dark Lord seemed none the wiser that he hadn't had full access to his servant's mind.

"Rise, Severus," the red-eyed man hissed. "You have done well."

Wormtail looked disappointed and Malfoy made a noise of disbelief as Snape climbed to his feet, brushing the dirt from the knees of his robes.

"Patience, Lucius," the Dark Lord said, and turned back to Severus. "Keep the girl close; report _anything_ she tells you of Potter."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I trust the potion will still be ready as planned?"

Snape hesitated. He still hadn't been informed what the Dark Lord planned to do with the potion, and he needed to stall for time until he gained at least some idea of what its use would be. He couldn't hand the Dark Lord such a weapon without giving due warning to the Order.

"Forgive me, my Lord," he said regretfully. "Your summons last night interrupted one of the crucial stages in the potion's development." Snape saw the Dark Lord frown and reach into his robes for his wand, and hurriedly continued. "I would not have left the brew, but for your specific request for my presence at the raid. Stasis charms are ineffective on the potion, so I'm afraid I will have to start a new batch. It will take a full week to complete."

The Dark Lord did withdraw a wand from his robes, but Snape was surprised to see it was his own - the one he'd been relieved of during his exchange with Malfoy at the Granger house.

"Very well," the Dark Lord said after a tense moment of deliberation. "Be sure you do not delay my plans any longer."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Now," he continued, "there is another matter to be dealt with. Severus, your actions tonight have served to further our cause, however," Snape's blood went cold as Wormtail sniggered excitedly, "in doing so, you caused harm to your fellow Death Eaters."

Snape dropped to one knee again, aware that Lucius had moved, though to where, he couldn't see. "Forgive me, my Lord," he said quietly, bowing his head.

"You have my approval, Severus," the Dark Lord assured him, "but I feel it is only fair to allow Lucius his retribution."

Snape looked up to see the Dark Lord nod over his shoulder, and a moment later a heavy boot between his shoulder blades sent him sprawling flat on his stomach in the dirt.

Moving to defend himself, he rolled onto his back and withdrew his wand, only to have it torn from his fingers by the Dark Lord's _Expelliarmus_.

"This is a punishment, Severus, not a duel, and you will take it as such," the Dark Lord hissed, tossing both of Snape's wands to Malfoy, who caught them and secreted them in a hidden pocket of his robes. "You may have those back when Lucius has finished with you."

Snape saw the Dark Lord move to the edge of the clearing, Pettigrew at his side, breathing quickly in anticipation of the punishment.

Against his better judgement, Snape remained on his back in the dirt. Years of both watching and participating in such punishments had taught him it would be over more quickly if he took what was coming to him without question.

Standing over him, Lucius made to withdraw his wand from its sheath in his cane, but was stopped by the Dark Lord's voice.

"I need his hands to be steady to complete my potion," Snape heard the Dark Lord say. "I trust you have no qualms about resorting to Muggle forms of punishment, Lucius?"

"None at all, my Lord," Lucius smirked, turning back to his fellow Death Eater on the ground.

"Now," he said softly, so none but Snape could hear him. "Where to I start?"

Snape eyed his so-called friend defiantly, and was rewarded with a hard kick to his ribs. His only sound was a sharp intake of breath at the sudden pain, and his eyes closed momentarily.

"That," Lucius hissed, "was for making a mockery of me in front of our Lord."

"I don't need to make a mockery of you, Lucius," Snape sneered. "Your rashness does that alone. If you'd considered the plan beyond it's potential for bloodshed, you would have seen its flaws as I did."

"On your knees," Lucius snarled.

Snape complied, and was no sooner kneeling than he was knocked sideways, the handle of Lucius' cane meeting the side of his face with a dull crack.

"That was for spoiling my fun with the Mudblood bitch," he spat, as Snape struggled back to a kneeling position, his head spinning.

The older man stepped closer to him, grasping his hair and yanking it back, forcing Snape to meet his gaze.

"Our Lord may have believed your little story, Severus," he whispered, "but I sense something amiss."

"Oh, but why don't you tell him so, Lucius?" Snape sneered up at the blonde. "I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear _your_ explanation."

With a growl, Lucius released Snape's hair, and another well-placed kick sent him sprawling onto his back again. In the next instant he found himself pinned to the ground, the heavy sole of Malfoy's boot hovering above his windpipe.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Severus," he hissed, lowering his foot just enough so breathing became uncomfortable for Snape. He resisted the urge to claw at the restrictive boot, choosing instead to clench his hands at his sides and remain still.

"But remember this," Malfoy continued slowly, exerting more pressure downwards.

"You were lucky this time." More pressure, and Snape found he couldn't draw a breath.

"Next time I _will_ have my way," he whispered, leaning down as he crushed Snape's throat even further. "You and the Mudblood will _both_ pay."

Abandoning all pretence, Snape brought his hands up to clawed at the boot restricting his airflow. The blonde man only laughed, and Snape's struggles became desperate as he began to feel light-headed.

His gaze locked with the other man's pale eyes, but he found he could no longer focus.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the high, cold voice of the Dark Lord demand, "Enough."

But with one final, futile gasp for air, he succumbed to oblivion.

* * *

Snape awoke, some time later, wondering why he had fallen asleep somewhere so cold and uncomfortable.

He swallowed dryly, and the pain in his throat immediately brought him back to the clearing, now empty but for himself and his two wands, lying nearby.

Rolling over, he coughed, and then groaned as a fresh wave of pain stabbed through his chest. _Damn Lucius_, he cursed, climbing first to his knees, then hesitantly testing out his feet. They seemed steady enough, and the clearing only spun momentarily as he regained his balance.

He supposed he should be thankful to be alive, given the circumstances, but the pounding headache in side of his skull seemed to make thinking objectively out of the question.

Picking up his wands, he tucked the spare inside a pocket of his robes and considered whether he was up to Apparating. Deciding to chance it, he closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the gates of Hogwarts.

The attempt was a success, but also seemed to increase the pain in his head by ten-fold. He made his way slowly up the path to the castle and reached the main doors just as light was starting to peek over the distant, eastern horizon.

Thankful that Dumbledore had asked him to wait to report any new information until the Order meeting that afternoon, he headed straight for his rooms. Pulling off his heavy robes as soon as he closed the door, he eyed the cupboard at the end of the row of bookshelves in his sitting room, hesitating only a moment before pulling the out a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky. It wasn't Ogden's, but a cheap variation he'd confiscated from a student the previous year. After the previous night, he deserved a drink.

Staggering over to the couch, he collapsed tiredly along its length, kicking off his boots and socks before taking a swig of the amber liquid straight from the bottle.

It burnt all the way down, and he wondered at the wisdom of drinking such harsh liquor when his throat was still hurting from Lucius' retribution.

He took another mouthful, hoping the alcohol would eventually numb his throat... and the rest of his body along with it.

He'd never felt the need to turn to the bottle as a means to forget, but the past twelve hours certainly justified the action. In the space of a single night, he'd answered the call of the Dark Lord – twice, directly disobeyed the Dark Lord's order to save the lives of a student's Muggle parents, attacked his fellow Death Eaters to save said student, and very nearly lost his own life in the process. He'd also accepted thanks from and offered comfort to the student in a way entirely outside his projected persona's range of abilities, and, to top it all off, had caught himself thinking about said student in a manner most unbecoming of a teacher.

_Yes_, he thought. _Half a bottle of Firewhisky at six in the morning is perfectly justifiable._

After another long swig from the bottle, he leant his pounding head back against the armrest of the sofa and closed his eyes, willing the strength of the cheap imitation Ogden's to carry him into oblivion once again.

**

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**To be continued**

_I've posted one more chapter on OWL tonight, before I'm off on my holiday tomorrow morning, so I thought I'd better update here, too. _

_Anyone who informed me of log-in issues on OWL should now be registered and ready to read, except Firewall - I don't have your email, so I can't help you. If you're still having trouble, use the contact link on OWL and Potion Mistress can assist you._

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, both here and on OWL (and sometimes on both!). I love hearing your comments and speculation :)_


	19. Return to Hogwarts

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter 19**

It was mid-morning by the time Hermione and Dumbledore arrived back at Hogwarts, having Flooed from Snape's house directly to the Headmaster's office.

It had taken a lot of convincing, mostly on her part, to get her parents to agree to Dumbledore's plan. There had been confusion, raised voices, and a lot of tears. The Grangers had been horrified, and then angry, to learn their home had not only been raided, but also destroyed.

Mrs Granger was trying to put on a brave face, after her words about house and home earlier in the evening, but Hermione could tell her mother was devastated, nonetheless.

Because Hermione hadn't told her parents everything that had happened in the past two years, the Headmaster was forced to do a lot of explaining. When Dumbledore left the room to 'attend to other matters' after his explanations, the initial, tense silence between Hermione and her parents said volumes more than any shouting would have done.

She had felt bad, not telling her parents everything that went on in the wizarding world. She hadn't lied to them, as such, but keeping the truth from them wasn't far off the mark. She could tell her mother was upset, both at knowing what danger Hermione had been in, and at the fact that she hadn't been told about it. Hermione's father was more angry than upset, and as much as he protested otherwise, she could tell he blamed her for the situation they found themselves in.

She blamed herself, too.

She was thankful that they were alive, of course, but that didn't lessen the burden of her guilt much, knowing they were being forced to leave their home and their country solely because of her.

Her parents finally backed down, with a compromise. They would leave for France, and stay there until the conclusion of the war, so long as Hermione remained at Hogwarts for the duration of that time.

She agreed out of concern for their safety. Hogsmeade visits had been cancelled, anyway, and she was used to spending the Easter break at school. Everyone believed the war would be over, one way or another, by the time Harry graduated at the end of June, so she didn't even consider what she might do with her promise, if that were not the case.

A short time later Emmeline Vance, a distinguished witch and Order member, arrived to escort the Grangers to the safe house, from where they would depart for France. The tall witch stepped out of the Floo with Mercury, the Grangers' new owl, perched on her forearm, and Hermione wondered how she's come across the creature.

After greeting Dumbledore and introducing herself to Hermione's parents, the witch turned to her and said, "Hello, Hermione. It's nice to see you again, dear."

She'd met the witch the previous summer at Grimmauld Place, and replied in kind, adding, "How did you find Mercury?"

"Ah, is that his name?" said Vance, fondly stroking the creature's sleek feathers. "He was flitting around the street when I arrived at your house earlier this evening. He seemed anxious to rejoin his owners, so I took the liberty of bringing him with me, since he won't be able to track your parents to our next destination."

Hermione only heard the first half of what the older woman said. "You were at our house?" she blurted. "What happened to it, after we left?"

Hermione's parents, who had been having quiet words with Dumbledore a few steps away, turned interestedly to listen.

Vance looked quickly at Dumbledore, before replying, "Don't worry about that, Hermione. Everyone is safe; that's the main thing, isn't it?"

Hermione saw the pitying look in the witch's eyes, and sighed. As many times as she heard it, it was hard to believe the house was really gone, without seeing it for herself. At any moment, she expected someone to jump up and yell, 'Surprise! April Fool!' even though it was only December.

She wondered if it would be in the _Daily Prophet_? Probably not, she thought. Perhaps it was better that way, too. She supposed it would draw unwanted attention to both her and her parents, who miraculously survived.

A teary goodbye followed shortly thereafter, and Hermione held her parents' gaze until the Portkey took them from Snape's house to their next, unknown location.

Back in the Headmaster's office, Hermione sank into one of his plush armchairs, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Tea, Miss Granger?" he offered. "Or perhaps some rest is what you need, for now."

She nodded. "I _am_ tired," she admitted, "but I'm one of those people who can never sleep during the day. I'll never sleep tonight, if I do."

The Headmaster smiled. "Well, if you do change your mind, I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be happy to give you a sleeping draught."

Hermione yawned, and the Headmaster chuckled lightly. "I think that was a sign," he murmured.

She stood up, but didn't move to leave the room. "Sir, I just wanted to thank you for all you've done for my family tonight," she said honestly.

The Headmaster eyed her over the top of his half-moon glasses and said, "You are most welcome, Miss Granger, however my arrangements would not have been required if it weren't for the assistance of another."

"I know," said Hermione, catching Dumbledore's meaning. "I thanked him, too, but words seem so inadequate, after what he's done for me."

"It's more than he receives from most people," the Headmaster commented. "Not that he looks for thanks, but sometimes it is nice to be recognised for one's efforts."

Thinking on that, Hermione turned to the door, stopping for a moment before she left the room. "Is he back yet?"

The Headmaster, settling himself behind his desk, affirmed, "He is."

Hermione waited a moment, but no further explanation ensued, so she closed the door softly behind her and made her way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Down the corridor from the Fat lady, she stood, undecided. She'd come up there out of habit more than anything else, but she didn't see any point going into the Gryffindor common room, or her own room, for that matter. There were no other students in the school, and most of her textbooks had been in her trunk at home, so studying wasn't an option. She would be making more use of the library this term than usual, she surmised.

She had been serious about not sleeping during the day, so she decided to go for a walk to try and clear her head. Something was niggling away at the back of her mind, and she didn't realise what it was until her wanderings took her to the Entrance Hall, and the stairs leading to the Slytherin dungeons.

She knew Snape was back from his meeting with Voldemort, and that Dumbledore hadn't seemed at all concerned... but would it hurt for her to go and see that he was okay? After all, it was her fault he'd been summoned for the second time that night, anyway.

She bit her lip and pushing any misgivings away, turned from the dungeon stairs to head up a flight of stairs to the first floor corridor and the secret entrance to Snape's quarters.

The room was dark, curtains drawn across the panoramic windows, as Hermione closed the door quietly behind her. She lit her wand with a muttered spell, and was surprised to see Potions master sprawled at a most uncomfortable angle across the couch, on his back, one arm flung out over the edge, his hand brushing the floor.

"Professor?" she called quietly, fearing to startle him.

There was no answer, and as she crept a little closer she noticed the empty, overturned bottle of Firewhisky lying close to his out-flung hand.

_Great,_ she thought. _It's not even lunch-time and he's already drunk himself into oblivion._

The thought struck her as distinctly odd; Snape was someone who always seemed to be in control, and relished that control, too. She'd never actually seen the Potions master consume any liquor at all, let alone an entire bottle.

She crept closer still, her wand arm outstretched to throw light on his face, and gasped softly as she saw the livid bruise starting to appear across his temple and cheekbone. For a horrifying instant, she thought she'd mistaken his slumber, and he was actually... but no, he was definitely asleep. She could hear him breathing now, though harshly, as if his throat was partially blocked.

Voldemort had obviously not been impressed, though he seemed to have returned relatively unharmed, after last time.

"Severus?" she said softly.

There was still no response, and she noticed the way his tall frame was too long to fit comfortably onto the couch, his shoeless feet hanging over one end, his head bent and hunched at the other. Frowning in concentration, she murmured one of the transfiguration spells she'd learnt earlier that year, adding an extra foot or so to the length of the couch.

Snape's head lolled back in the space the spell had created behind him, and Hermione saw the reason his breathing sounded so harsh. Leaning in closer to focus the light of her wand on his neck, exposed above the open neck of his shirt, Hermione could make out what appeared to be a boot-print on the pale skin.

She withdrew a little, feeling dismayed and guilty. There was little doubt in her mind Voldemort had punished Snape because of her, but why would he resort to such a form of physical torture? From what she knew already, Voldemort much preferred hexes, curses and potions to any sort of primitive Muggle method of causing injury.

Frowning again, she wondered what other injuries Snape's clothes were hiding? Should she heal the ones she could see while he was still asleep? After his protests the last time she'd tried to help him, it seemed a good idea. They'd come a long way since then, though it had only been a week ago in real time. Nevertheless, she knew better than to think he'd let her play nurse-maid to him, even now.

Leaving his side for a moment and unwarding the lab, Hermione retrieved a jar of bruise salve. She heard a rustling noise behind her, and turned, thinking the Potions master had woken up and followed her into the room. The lab was deserted, and she shook her head as she returned to the sitting room.

The salve wasn't the ideal cure, but it was the best she could do with him still asleep; she would try to convince him to drink a throat-healing brew later, to repair any damage she couldn't see on the surface.

Casting a slightly brighter light about the room so she could see what she was doing, she knelt down at the side of the couch near his head, and uncapped the jar of salve.

Hesitantly, lest he should wake, she lifted his chin gently with one hand to gain better access to his neck. He slumbered on, and she spread a generous amount of the salve across his neck, massaging it into the skin with her free hand. It took a few applications for the bruises to start fading, and she tried not to think how much pressure someone would have had to exert to have marked his neck with the pattern on the sole of their shoe. No wonder he hadn't been breathing easily.

She let his chin drop again and turned her attention to his face. She could see the spot where a hard object had hit him, the bruise radiating out along his bone structure from that point. Starting there, she worked the salve into his skin again, before casting a charm to make sure the bone underneath wasn't broken.

She replaced the lid on the salve again, and regarded Snape's sleeping face for a moment. Even in slumber, there was a frown about his features, a line between his eyebrows giving away any illusion of dreamless sleep. She wondered briefly if it was a frown of pain, and cast the injury detection spell Madam Pomfrey had taught in Medicinal Magic the previous year. Her suspicion was confirmed when her wand glowed as it passed over his ribs, and she bit her lip, wondering what to do.

Such an injury wasn't surprising, given the others he'd received, but she daren't investigate any further without his consent. That was all she needed, for him to wake up to her removing his clothes.

She almost giggled, but, seeing the pained look on his features again, stood up and cast another spell, _"Sobrietus."_

The sooner the alcohol was out of his body, the sooner he would wake up, and she could see how much his remaining injury was bothering him.

Picking up the empty bottle of Firewhisky, she set it on the coffee table, then charmed the curtains slightly open to allow a little of the late-morning light to filter into the room.

Casting one last glance at the Potions master, she headed back into the lab to search for a hangover potion. _Sobrietus_ rid the body of alcohol, but not the after-effects of a drinking binge. She had a feeling Snape was going to need the potion if he was, as Dumbledore told her, to present any new information to the Order meeting that afternoon.

Not finding any in the Potions master's stores, she set about brewing a fresh batch. It would be useful, too, she thought with a wry smile, for the students returning prior to New Year's Eve. There was always someone who managed to sneak a bottle of Old Ogden's into their trunk after the family Christmas gathering.

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled to hear the same rustling noise as she'd heard before, coming from the other side of the room. She stood still and listened for a few moments, as the noise continued. It seemed to be coming from near the Potions master's workbench, scattered with notes and parchments.

Picking up her wand, she walked slowly and quietly towards the noise, looking for any sign of movement. It stopped abruptly as she drew level with one end of the bench, and she froze.

The noise didn't resume, even after Hermione stood stock still for some minutes. She shook her head again, wondering if she was so tired that she was hearing things.

She was about to turn back to preparing her ingredients when a book on Snape's workbench caught her eye; not just any book, but the notebook she had given him for Christmas just two days prior.

She flipped open the cover, and was surprised to see some potions ingredients already listed on the self-indexing page. She smiled to herself, pleased that he had meant what he said about the gift being appreciated.

She recognised some of the ingredients as those used in the Cruciatus antidote, but others she was unfamiliar with. Curiosity getting the better of her, she flipped to the next page, hoping to find the brew to which they belonged.

She found herself staring at the recipe for the Cruciatus potion.

She inhaled a breath sharply, her eyes travelling down the list of ingredients, which became uglier as she progressed. Snape had previously refused to teach her any part of brewing that potion, or even speak about what went into it. She'd seen him preparing various ingredients, but had never ventured close enough to ask what they were, or why they were a part of the mixture.

It truly was a terrible brew; something Snape no doubt wished he could uninvent. Despite knowing the effects of the potion, Hermione couldn't help but be fascinated by the list of ingredients, imagining the ways in which they all combined and reacted to form the near-deadly brew. She was so engrossed in the method of brewing, she didn't hear any movement behind her, or realise she was no longer alone in the lab until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She gasped, slammed the book shut, and spun around, coming face to face with the livid Potions master.

His face white with anger, he hissed, "What in the name of Hades do you think you are doing?"

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**To be continued**

_Sorry for the delay in updating. Took a bit longer than I expected to type up what I wrote while on holidays (which is now posted over at OWL). This may be the last chapter before HBP is released, depending on whether I'm able to write on Friday. Otherwise, the next chapter probably won't be posted here until at least a week after the book's release. I need that much time to absorb the shocks and see what, if anything, can be incorporated into the story._

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! As always, I love hearing your comments!  
_


	20. More Concessions

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_This story is pre-HBP and completely and utterly AU now. No spoilers. Disregards canon events after Book 5. _

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**Chapter 20**

Hermione shrank back from the furious man, but Snape followed, backing her into the corner of the room and snatching the book from her grasp.

"Well?" he hissed, towering over her. "I'm waiting for an explanation, though I fail to see how you will justify _this_."

He flung the book down at her feet, and it fell open to the very page she had been reading.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry doesn't even _begin_ to cut it," he spat. "Good gods, Hermione, you want me to trust you, and yet the minute my back is turned you deliberately disobey me!"

He was truly scaring her, and she tried to move away from him, only to have him grab her by the shoulders in a hard grip, pinning her to the wall.

Her gasp of surprise and fear went unnoticed as, face inches from her own, he demanded, "What were you looking for?"

"N- no- nothing," she stammered. "I heard something and I… I came over to see what it was-"

"Do you take me for a fool, Hermione?" he sneered, black eyes boring into her own. "A mysterious noise – how convenient – and I suppose my notebook just _happened_ to be open to that particular page?"

She looked away as he smirked in triumph.

"Do you want to learn how to brew the Cruciatus potion, Hermione?" His voice was soft and dangerous, and he released his grip on her shoulders but didn't step back. "Do you want to be the one to make the batch I'm to deliver to the Dark Lord? What happens when he uses it against the Order, or against the school? Could you live with yourself, knowing your friends have died because of something you made, knowing that you had a hand in their deaths?"

She gasped, tears filling her eyes at the images his words were bringing to her mind. He smirked cruelly again.

"I thought not."

He picked up the notebook and turned away from her, placing it back on his workbench, closed.

Anger was written in the stiff lines of his body as, back still turned, he said in a low voice, "I would have thought, after all I have taught you, you could have accepted my decision to leave this be. It seems I overestimated your respect for my authority."

Hermione stared at his back, suddenly realising what she'd done. She would have rather Snape shouted, than have to hear the cold disappointment in his voice. As usual, her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and her need for knowledge had clouded her own judgement and common sense. A split-second, foolish decision could destroy everything that had passed between them since November.

She'd never considered the possibility that his refusal to teach her the potion had been out of concern for her well-being. She'd assumed he didn't think she was capable of understanding the brew, or not entitled to learn to make it when she hadn't yet passed her NEWTs, let alone any Master level tests.

"Do you not see, Hermione?" he said, turning back to her. The anger was gone from his eyes, leaving only the disappointment she could still hear echoed in his voice. "It's going to be hard enough for you as it is, knowing about the potion and having seen its effects. If something happens to your friends or fellow students... I couldn't ask you to brew it, knowing what the consequences might be."

"Why didn't you just tell me this before?" she asked. "All the times I've tried to lead you into talking about it, and all I got was a one-word refusal. At least if I'd known where you were coming from, I could have made my own decision."

"And what would your decision have been?" he enquired.

"I would have taken it as a learning opportunity," she said defiantly, and remembering his words to her from weeks before, added, "You said yourself, not everything we do is good or easy, but somebody has to do it."

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "That is exactly why I refused."

"Why?" she demanded. "Because I'm brave enough to take on whatever you can throw at me?"

"No!" he shouted. "It's not bravery, you foolish girl. It's pure idiocy! You think you can handle anything, but you _can't_. You have no idea what it's like to watch people die, knowing something you've made – something you've _created_ – is the reason they're screaming, wishing for death to come quickly to release them from the pain-" His voice broke and he turned from her again, breathing heavily.

Hermione was shaking, but no longer with fear. She was moved by the desperation in his voice, and frightened to see him lose control. Though she knew the cold indifference he so often displayed was just an act, she hadn't realised how deeply Snape was affected by what he had to do. It was foolish of her _not_ to have realised, but he always seemed so calm and in control that it was easy not to look beyond the façade.

"I'm sorry," she said again, putting all the sincerity she could into her voice.

Not looking at her, he walked across the room to the storage cabinets on the far wall. Opening the first one, he started reorganising the bottles and flasks. She recognised, by now, the way Snape used work to distance himself from an uncomfortable situation, and she'd discovered any display of sincerity towards him garnered such a reaction. Not to be deterred, she continued speaking, certain he was still listening.

"I honestly didn't mean to defy you, and if I'd stopped to think, I'd have realised the stupidity of my actions. I saw the book and I was so pleased that you were using it. There were some ingredients on the index page that I didn't recognise, and I was looking to see what potion they belonged to."

He continued to rearrange the bottles, and for a moment there was only the sound of clinking glass in the room. With a sigh, she crossed the lab and stood next to him.

"Severus," she said softly.

He turned his head sharply, as though forgetting he'd given her leave to address him so. He held her gaze with tired eyes, and she hesitated, unsure of how to convey in words what she felt needed to be said.

"I wish you'd have told me you were only trying to protect me," she began honestly. "Perhaps if I'd looked a little harder I'd have seen your reasons anyway, and regardless of what I said before, I appreciate why you did it. I don't presume to be able to handle anything, and I suppose I forgot the gravity of the situation we're faced with. I just... you... you seem so unaffected most of the time," she finished inadequately.

"You think I'm unaffected?" he said incredulously.

"Well, not now," she said, "I guess you just hide it well. But sometimes you're so indifferent about the whole situation."

He favoured her with a derisive look before turning his attention back to the cabinet. "I see you know as little about me as I know about you."

Recalling his Christmas missive, she took a deep breath and said, "Maybe we can do something about that."

His hand paused, hovering over the bottle he'd been about to pick up.

"That is, if you still want to," she added hesitantly.

He moved the last two bottles on the shelf, closed the cabinet door and turned to face her.

"I would say the question, given you now understand the dangers you face in associating with me, is whether _you_ still want to," he said, dark eyes boring into her own.

Hermione blinked, thrown by the slight uncertainly of his tone.

"I'm here, aren't I?" she replied.

"Indeed you are," he murmured, seeming to exhale a breath as he spoke.

There was a quiet moment in which they both looked at one another, and Hermione realised she had no idea what to do or say, now their argument seemed to be over. It was strange, she thought, how easily she could find her voice when they argued, yet now found herself lost for words, unsure of how to handle to softer side of the Potions master.

Breaking her gaze, he glanced over her shoulder and frowned. She turned to see the remnants of her half-prepared ingredients scattered across her workbench.

"Sorry," she apologised, hurrying over to the bench to finish what she'd been working on. He followed, glancing at the open textbook.

"Hangover potion?"

"I thought you might appreciate it," she said lightly.

"I didn't drink the whole bottle, you know," he said darkly.

"I didn't say you did," she countered, "but it can't hurt to have a clear head for the Order meeting."

Snape cursed softly, glancing at the clock over his desk. "I'd forgotten about that."

He walked around to the other side of the bench, picked up a knife and the bunch of daisy roots laying nearby, and Hermione realised he was going to help her finish the brew.

She smiled to herself, but sobered quickly as she watched Snape ease himself gingerly onto a stool, wincing slightly as he sat.

He caught her look of concern and said shortly, "It's nothing."

"It's obviously not _nothing_," she countered. "You can't walk around with broken ribs, and it's not the sort if injury that will heal itself easily."

His eyes narrowed. "How did you-"

"What did you expect me to do?" she exclaimed. "Ignore you passed out on the couch with your face black and blue? You could have been seriously hurt, for all I knew, not to mention the explaining you'd have to do if you turned up at the Order meeting with a _bootprint_ on your neck!"

Wordlessly, he shoved the daisy roots aside, stood up, and swept out of the lab. She followed him after a moment, hearing the door to his bathroom bang open just as she entered the sitting room.

She went as far as the bedroom door and then stood, undecided, biting her lip. It was open, but that wasn't necessarily an invitation. The last time she'd ventured that far into his personal domain, he'd been too weak to protect otherwise.

Steeling herself for a rebuke, she stepped into the room and headed for the bathroom. That door, too, was open, and she could see his shadow thrown across the floor by the light of the torches on the wall.

Standing on the threshold of the white marble floor, she watched Snape examining his neck in the mirror over the hand basin. He glanced at her reflection behind him and cleared his throat.

"It's an improvement to how it felt earlier," he murmured, by way of thanks.

"I take it he wasn't impressed with you, then," she said, as he inspected the side of his face, grimacing slightly as he probed his temple.

"On the contrary," the Potions master said, earning a confused look from Hermione. "He was most pleased to hear of your gratitude to me for saving your parents' lives," he said, the latter of his words muffled slightly as he splashed his face with a handful of water.

"I don't understand," she said, as he muttered a drying charm. "If he was pleased, why did he hurt you?"

"Ah, this," he said, turning around and leaning against the bench, arms folded. "This was the work of a fellow Death Eater who didn't like my disappearing act at your house last night."

"Malfoy," she said flatly, wondering if the bruise on Snape's face had come from the hard, metal tip of the cane he always carried. "If V- sorry, _he_ was pleased with you, why did he still let Malfoy do that?"

Snape sighed. "Regardless of the fact that my 'plan' worked better than Malfoy's would have, the fact of the matter is that I still disobeyed the Dark Lord and caused harm to other Death Eaters in doing so."

"I suppose you got off lightly compared to last time," she mused, and he chuckled bitterly.

"The Cruciatus – curse _or_ potion – would have been welcome under these circumstances," he said quietly.

"What?" she said. After last time, she couldn't imagine he'd ever want to go through the pain of the Cruciatus potion again.

"The Dark Lord specifically instructed Malfoy _not_ to curse me, so I can still prepare the potion and deliver it to him next Saturday night. No more stalling, no more excuses."

"What's he going to do with it?" she asked fearfully.

"That's the worst part," he said hollowly. "I still don't know."

"You can't give it to him without knowing what he plans to do with it," she said, alarmed.

"I don't have a choice, Hermione," he groused. "It's either that, or forfeit my position as a spy, and Dumbledore has already decided we cannot afford to lose the inside information that I _am_ still privy to."

Hermione stared at Snape.

"Is Dumbledore mad?"

"Quite possibly," Snape snorted. "The Dark Lord isn't the only one keeping things from me. I have no idea what the Headmaster plans to achieve from this, either."

It seemed he was going to elaborate further, but he appeared to change his mind, instead saying, "Perhaps we should return to the lab, if you wish to finish the potion before the meeting starts."

She was still standing in the doorway, and when she didn't move immediately to let him pass, he raised an expectant eyebrow. In the conversation turning to the potion, Snape had almost succeeded in distracting her from the reason she'd followed him to the bathroom in the first place.

Almost.

"Nice try," she said, "but haven't you forgotten something?"

He merely watched her through hooded eyes, and she extended one hand, boldly poking him in the ribs.

He stepped away from her touch quickly, but not before a hiss of pain escaped his lips.

"Are you going to let me fix that?" she asked.

"Are you going to give me a choice?" he returned, an annoyed glint in his eyes.

"Probably not," she said loftily, and he snorted.

"Think again, Hermione. You are not the one with authority here."

"Look, I don't see what the problem is!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "It's a simple charm that take a matter of minutes. What's the point of being in unnecessary discomfort when I can fix it?"

"Firstly," he countered, "you're not a mediwitch, Hermione, not even one in-training. Secondly, the discomfort is insignificant and not worth the trouble of the charm-"

"It's no trouble," she cut in.

"-And thirdly," he said, holding up his hand to stop her interrupting again. "I believe I told you once before some healing charms are inappropriate between a teacher and student, and this is no exception."

"That's a pretty lame argument, _Severus_," she replied, emphasising his given name to prove her point.

"I'd advise you to let me pass, _Miss Granger_," he returned, ignoring what she'd said.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked suddenly.

A strange look flitted across his face before he recovered himself and sneered, "Certainly not you."

"I think you are," she pushed, watching him carefully. "Otherwise, why would you refuse?"

He glared down at her, and she returned his gaze defiantly.

"Why do you have to be so damn persistent?"

"Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?" she countered.

"Because, in my experience," he replied angrily, "no one offers help without wanting something in return."

"You think I want something from you?" She almost laughed at the absurdity of his statement. "All I want is for you to treat me like the friend you say I am, instead of just another one of your dunderhead students. Is it so hard to believe I'm offering to help you because I _want_ to?"

He was silent, and she realised that maybe, for him, it _was_ hard to believe anyone did anything not driven by want of selfish returns.

"I'm sorry," she started to say yet again, but he stopped her.

His face seemed to soften a little and he said, "One thing I do know about friendship is that one friend should not always be apologising the other, especially when they have each other's best interest at heart."

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, realising she'd been about to apologise for apologising too much. She laughed nervously, and the corners of his lips quirked up, trying to suppress a smile.

"I meant what I said before Christmas, Hermione," he said frankly. "I do wish to consider you a friend. I'm just not well versed in what _being_ a friend entails... including, as it would seem, making concessions."

"Well," she said with a smile, "I'm not used to having such a stubborn friend and having to make concessions of my own, so maybe we can learn from each other."

"So," he said, after a moment, smirking at her in a most disconcerting way, "how about this for a concession... You let me out of _my_ bathroom, we finish the hangover potion so I can relieve this splitting headache I have, and then you can poke and prod until you're content I'm sufficiently healthy."

Hermione was about to agree when a thought struck her, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "Severus Snape, you wouldn't be hoping there won't be time for that last part of the deal before the Order meeting, would you?"

He had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but returned, "That would be positively _Slytherin_, Hermione. However did such a thing cross _your_ mind."

"I know how you think," she said, "and don't think I care if you're late for the meeting to uphold your end of the deal."

She spun on her heel and finally conceded her place in the doorway, heading back to the lab. His dark chuckle followed her, and to her disgust, he sat on the other side of her workbench and didn't lift a finger to help her, stalling in anticipation of the meeting.

Setting up her cauldron and tossing in the first ingredients, she said, "Well, if you're just going to sit there, you can answer some questions."

He raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"What sort of… _questions_?"

"Well," she said, lighting the flame beneath the cauldron with a flick of her wand. "You said you wanted to know more about me, and I think that works both ways."

"Does it now?" he smirked. "So I can ask a question for each of yours?"

"Of course," she said lightly. "In fact, you can go first."

She grinned to herself as he opened his mouth, but no question was forthcoming. He seemed to be searching for something to ask, and by the time her cauldron was simmering nicely, he managed, "What's your favourite colour?"

She bit back a laugh at the ridiculously simple question, but answered, "Blue."

He looked surprised, and she shot back, "When is your birthday?"

"January 9th," he replied reluctantly.

"That's less than two weeks!" she said, and he gave her a withering look. "How old will you be?"

"I thought it was my turn to ask a question," he bit out.

She rolled her eyes, counting as she stirred the potion the required number of times.

By the time the potion was complete, cooled and bottle, she had discovered quite a few things about Severus Snape, both predictable and not.

He would be thirty-nine in two weeks – more than twice her age, as she snidely pointed out when she finally got it out of him - his favourite colour was black and he despised pumpkin juice, inattentive students and Divination. Whilst at school, he had received nine OWLs and seven NEWTs, and made the mistake of taking Divination as his eighth NEWT subject, earning his first and only Troll.

He had been a Beater for the Slytherin Quidditch team, and had once managed to hex the Bludgers to attack only the Gryffindor Seeker, James Potter, for the duration of the game. He hated lemon drops, Canary Creams and most other sugary sweets, but had a penchant for plain Muggle licorice bullets.

He preferred owls over other animals, and his own black eagle owl was called Tonatiuh. Hermione had to use a second question to ask the meaning behind the name, and discovered Tonatiuh, or The Rising Eagle, was the sun-god and heavenly warrior of the Aztecs, an ancient and – to Hermione's surprise – magical civilisation.

With his own questions, he asked her about Muggle-related things; what it was like growing up in the Muggle world, whether it was strange returning there after her time at Hogwarts and what, if anything, she missed about it when she was at school. He was surprised to find she didn't think much of Quidditch, and even more surprised to find she didn't yet know what she wanted to do with her life beyond Hogwarts.

"I guess I'll just wait and see how things work out," she sighed, handing him a small phial of the completed potion as she corked the remaining bottles.

He held the phial up to the light, inspecting it before drinking the contents.

"Better?" Hermione asked, as she cleaned the cauldron with a flick of her wand and banished the unused ingredients.

"Much," he agreed, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he eyed the clock across the room. There was still an hour until the Order meeting.

"So," she said, trying to sound nonchalant, though in actual fact she was quite nervous. "Time to uphold your end of the bargain, don't you think?"

He eyed her shrewdly. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to forget about it?"

"Not even for unlimited access to your book collection," she quipped, then added seriously, "Really, what's so distasteful about it?"

"Nothing," he sighed, though Hermione had the distinct feeling it was far from nothing. "Let's get it over with, then. How do you want to do this?"

"Er, it might be easiest of you could lie down... if you don't mind," she said hesitantly.

Snape gave her a look that said he really _did_ mind, but he turned on his heel and exited the lab. She followed him through to his bedroom, nerves fluttering in her stomach as he sat on the edge of his bed.

As he made to lie back, she cleared her suddenly dry throat and said, "Can you, uh, take off your shirt, please, sir... so I can see what I'm doing?"

Her use of his title was an effort to regain some semblance of control over her emotions... a vain effort, so it seemed. Snape appeared to deliberate her request for a moment before reaching for the top button of the garment. Hermione's eyes were drawn to his hands, working their way down the line of buttons, each one released exposing more pale, unmarked skin.

_What, did you expect him to be covered in scars_? she chided herself. She hadn't really thought about it, but she'd be surprised if his body didn't exhibit some evidence of his hard life.

She realised she was staring when he cleared his throat irritably. She met his eyes and blushed, muttering, "I'll, uh, be back in a moment."

She left the room before he could respond, leaning on a blank wall out in the sitting room and taking a deep breath.

_Must get a grip_, she chanted under her breath. The butterflies in her stomach felt like rampaging hippogriffs instead, and she concentrated hard, trying to remember the healing charm she was going to need. Her brain seemed to have switched off in the last five minutes.

Spotting the jar of bruise salve still sitting on the table, she picked it up, took one more deep breath in a futile attempt to calm her nerves, and re-entered the bedroom.

She could feel Snape's watching her from his position stretched out on the bed, but she avoided his eyes as she set the jar of salve on the bedside table and used her wand to brighten the room a little.

Hermione glanced up at his face then. His features were carefully schooled, but there was a trace of apprehension in his dark eyes as she leant over to examine the dark bruises on his chest.

Casting the injury detection charm once again, she allowed herself a briefly, subtle appraisal of his exposed torso. His shoulders weren't particularly broad, but rather wiry with hidden strength. The muscles on his chest looked defined, but from the rigours of daily life more than any purposeful regime, and his ribs stood out more than they should have, a testament to how many meals she knew he regularly missed.

A smattering of dark hair broke the pale skin over his breastbone, trailing down over the flat stomach and disappearing into the waistband of his pants. His left hand was resting on his stomach, covering the left side of his body just below the ribs. She glanced at his splayed fingers, thinking she could see the hint of a scar on the skin beneath.

She dismissed the thought as she shifted her concentration back to healing his ribs, frowning in concentration as she cast the bone-mending charm. She was relieved to see a ripple under the skin as the bones knitted back together, though Snape gave a small grunt of pain at the movement. She met his eyes apologetically as she reached for the salve.

"This might hurt a bit, too," she murmured, spreading some on her fingers and cautiously working it into the bruises over the now-healed ribs.

The only sign of discomfort he gave was a slight hiss of pain at her first touch, after which he was silent. She could feel his eyes on the top of her head as she worked the salve into the fading bruises, and she found her gaze drawn back to his hand.

She was sure, looking at it again, that it was covering up a mark or scar of some sort. She was also sure the placement of his hand wasn't a coincidence. She could see the edge of the Dark Mark on the underside of his bare forearm, and she wondered what sort of blemish could be worse than that. Was that mark, whatever it might be, the reason he'd protested so vehemently when she'd first offered to help him today?

She finished applying the salve and noticed Snape had closed his eyes at some point. Reaching across him, she took the hand resting on his stomach in her own, and tried to pull it away.

His eyes shot open and he tore his hand away from her grasp, inadvertently doing exactly what she wanted, exposing the scar beneath.

Or four scars, to be exact.

Hermione stared at what could only be claw marks; jagged scars extending under his rib cage and disappearing around the side of his body. They seemed to be old, yet the skin around the edges was still red and raised, the skin of the scars themselves paler even than the alabaster of his normal complexion.

She looked up at him fearfully, expecting another outburst of anger for her curiosity and presumptuousness. Instead, she found him watching her uncertainly, as if he was waiting for her to pass judgement on the marks, and on him for bearing them.

"They're just scars, Severus," she said softly, reaching out to trace the uppermost one lightly with her index finger. He stiffened slightly, but otherwise didn't move. "They're nothing to be ashamed of."

He merely looked at her, then at her hand, now tracing the other marks below the first. He seemed thrown by her lack of disgust at the marred skin.

"Most people have scars," she continued. "_I_ have one from the Department of Mysteries, two years ago."

He looked at her curiously, and she pulled the neck of her jumper aside slightly to reveal the scar on her collarbone, faded but still visible.

"I heard you were hurt, but I didn't realise there were any lasting scars," he murmured, his eyes moving from the mark back to her face.

"Madam Pomfrey didn't recognise the curse," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "She healed it, but couldn't eradicate the mark altogether. It's there, and I certainly don't like it, but it's a part of me now... I'm not ashamed of it."

"It's not that I'm ashamed, Hermione," he said. "But if people see it they want to know how I received it... and _that_ is something I am ashamed of – being made a fool."

She had no idea what Snape was talking about, and her confusion must have shown on her face, because he snorted derisively.

"Please, Hermione," he sneered. "You don't mean to tell me Potter didn't regale you with the details of the joke his father and Black played on me when we were at school?"

Brow furrowing in thought, Hermione recalled that Harry _had_ mentioned something about a joke to frighten Snape by sending him down the Whomping Willow tunnel after Lupin, but she hadn't paid it much mind... until now. Looking at the jagged scars again, the pieces suddenly fell into place.

"_Lupin_ did that?" she gasped.

Snape nodded.

"But I thought... Harry told me you only _saw_ the werewolf through the end of the tunnel."

"That was the _official_ version of events," Snape sighed, pulling himself into a sitting position and reaching for his shirt. "If the real events had been known, Black would have been expelled, and Lupin most likely would have been locked up or destroyed. I was forbidden to speak of what really happened, and the Gryffindors were allowed to go on with their schooling as though nothing had happened. Black and Pettigrew were given a week of detention, and _Potter_," he spat the name out derisively, "received an award for Special Services to the school for pulling me back and subduing the werewolf in his animagus form."

Hermione gaped at the Potions master. "They tricked you into going into that tunnel on the night of a full moon, knowing you'd come face to face with a werewolf? They could have killed you!"

"I have every reason to believe that was Black's intention," Snape said in a low voice, buttoning his shirt. "Our hatred of one another was not merely the school-boy rivalry Dumbledore would like to believe."

Hermione sensed there was more to the story, but decided to save those questions for later. Snape had already conceded to tell her far more than she had intended to learn from him today.

"It's good of you to make the Wolfsbane for him after such an incident," she commented.

Snape snorted. "You really thought I made it out of the goodness of my heart? You should know better than that. I make it _because_ of that incident, so I never again would have to face what I saw that night in the Shrieking Shack."

He was staring straight ahead, across to the bare stone wall, but Hermione knew he was seeing beyond the room, reliving the events from another time and place.

Hermione couldn't imagine the terror Snape would have felt at being attacked by the werewolf. It had been terrifying enough to encounter Lupin in his other form, as they had in her third year, the night Pettigrew escaped and Sirius went into hiding. Thinking back on that night, she realised something, and voiced her thoughts aloud.

"You followed us into the Shrieking Shack that night, knowing Lupin hadn't taken his potion."

Snape turned his gaze to her again. "I was merely doing my duty to protect students, even if you were less than grateful at the time."

She looked away, ashamed at the memory of Snape sliding down the wall, knocked out from the combined power of three disarming spells. Looking back on that night, now, Snape had only been doing what he thought was right, and it must have taken more courage than Hermione thought she could ever muster for him to return to the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, knowing what he might find within.

Aloud, she simply said, "I never did apologise for disarming you. You were only doing what you thought was best for us at the time."

"Which turned out to be wrong, anyway," Snape sighed. "I hated Black, yes, but he was innocent in the Potters' deaths. I should have learnt years ago what happens when I let hatred cloud my judgement."

Hermione thought on his words for a moment, then said hesitantly. "You hated Sirius so much... is that what drove you to join… _him_?"

He looked up sharply. "_No_."

She recoiled slightly at the vehemence of his tone, and he shook his head, elaborating more evenly, "Not as such, although I won't deny the possibility of revenge wasn't a factor in my decision."

"There are many things I wanted as a teenager, Hermione," he went on, getting off the bed and moving to stand in front of the window as he spoke. "Power, knowledge, acceptance, recognition... all of which I thought the Dark Lord could offer me. All I had to do was pledge my loyalty to him, and I would have everything I'd longed for, everything I'd never had. It seemed a small price to pay."

"How wrong I was," he sighed, turning back to the room and meeting Hermione's gaze across the room, his dark eyes filled with anger and remorse. "He offered these things, but what he asked in return… what he demanded as a show of one's loyalty… none of those things were worth it. Power is an illusion when you find yourself crawling in the dirt to kiss the hem of his robes; acceptance and recognition in his circle are based on your willingness to take a life in the bloodiest, most brutal way possible."

"He did offer me knowledge, though," Snape mused. "Knowledge of Potions, the Dark Arts, things I'd never have learned under another tutor. Did you know it was he who funded the development of the original Wolfsbane potion?"

Hermione shook her head, disturbed yet intrigued by his narrative.

"It's true,' Snape confirmed. "The Master of Potions whom I apprenticed under was a Death Eater, commissioned by the Dark Lord to lure the werewolves into his service. He planned to offer them relative freedom from their affliction in exchange for loyalty, at the same time using the potion to bind them to his service for life. The binding element of the potion failed, though, and the Dark Lord killed the Master in anger, appointing the man's apprentice to continue his work."

"You," Hermione said quietly.

Snape nodded. "I was welcomed into the Death Eaters' ranks as a promising young student, and much of my first year in the Dark Lord's service was spent in a lab; creating, brewing, testing... it was a long time before I saw the results of some of my experiments."

Hermione saw a shudder run through him, and she wondered what other Dark potions besides the Cruciatus could be credited to his name.

"It was when I saw those results that I realised what I'd gotten myself into," he said hollowly. "At about the same time, the Dark Lord began calling on me more often to take active part in the _raids_, as they were known. I saw how, each night, he tested the loyalty of one of his servants, and it wasn't long before he tested mine. That was the night I went to Dumbledore."

"I know," Hermione whispered. It was one of the things she had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve... and something she never wanted to see again.

A clock chimed out in the sitting room, breaking the heavy, brooding silence that had fallen across the room. Snape seemed to shake himself, physically and mentally, and _accio_ed his frock coat from across the room.

"We best not be late for the meeting," he said. "I believe there will be a few people very glad to see you."

"Harry and Ron are here?" she said, following the Potions master out into the sitting room.

"No," he replied. "The meeting it at Grimmauld Place. We are to Floo directly there, and yes, Potter and Weasley will also be there."

She smiled to herself. It seemed an age since she'd seen her friends, though in reality it had only been a week.

"Am I actually allowed to attend the meeting?" she asked suddenly. In the past, she, Harry and Ron had been at Grimmauld Place often when the Order met, but had never been privy to what went on within the meetings, save what Dumbledore told Harry afterwards.

"I think Dumbledore wishes you to be there for _part_ of the meeting," he emphasised. "The Order is not taking what happened over Christmas lightly, and will probably want your account of the events as well as my own."

He picked up the jar of Floo powder on the mantle, and as he offered her a handful, cautioned, "Remember, do not address me as Severus when others are around. We have enough to explain without a slip of the tongue causing more trouble."

"Of course, _Professor Snape_," she said, trying to suppress a smile.

He smirked as she stepped into the fireplace, tossing down her powder and calling out, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place!"

* * *

**To be continued**

_This is the last chapter I wrote before Half-Blood Prince was released, but never fear, I am continuing the story despite it's obviously AUness in light of the book. This story will obviously be disregarding any canon after OOTP, although you may see some elements or ideas from HBP appear later in the story. No major spoilers, though. I'll continue to write the story as I've planned it._

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!_


	21. Almost

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_Author's Note: Please observe the rating of the story has increased to M, and will remain that way indefinitely._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 21**

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was packed with people when Hermione Flooed in. She heard various calls of welcome, but was distracted when Mrs Weasley gave a small cry and rushed over to embrace her tightly.

"Oh, Hermione, dear," she exclaimed. "We were so worried when we heard what happened! Are you all right?"

"I'm okay, Mrs Weasley. A little shaken," she admitted, "but we were lucky Professor Snape was able to help us."

"Hermione!"

Mrs Weasley released her, and she turned just in time to register Harry and Ron fighting their way through the crowd before her two best friends pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hermione, I'm so glad you're okay," Harry murmured into her shoulder.

"I still can't believe it," Ron muttered, shaking his head as they all pulled back from each other a little, but didn't let go. "How could they do such a thing? And on Christmas, no less!"

"I know," Hermione whispered, suddenly feeling like crying as she realised just how lucky she was to be with her friends again.

She heard the noise of the Floo behind her, and a moment later Mrs Weasley's voice saying, "Oh, Severus, how can we ever thank you?"

She noticed Ron's wide-eyed look, and turned to see Mrs Weasley embracing Snape... or trying to, since the Potions master was holding himself stiffly, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the attention.

"I did what I had to, Molly," he said shortly.

"Oh, don't be modest, man," Molly scolded, releasing him only to brush a stray dusting of soot from the shoulder of his robes. He frowned, but endured the treatment silently as she prattled on about how grateful they all were to him.

Hermione hid a smile and turned back to her friends, who took the opportunity to fire a barrage of questions at her about the previous night. Her explanation was cut short a few minutes later, though, as everyone gathered around the long kitchen table for the start of the meeting.

Dumbledore, at the head of the table, raised the first topic of discussion: the attack on the Grangers' home. Snape was standing somewhere in the shadows behind where Hermione was seated, and proceeded to outline how he had learned of the imminent attack, and what had happened when he had arrived at her house. She was grateful he didn't mention the fact that they would have escaped cleanly were it not for her stupidity in leaving her wand lying around upstairs.

"So, why were you in on this one, Snape?" a rough voice came from the other side of the room when Snape finished his account. Mad-Eye Moody was sitting at the opposite end of the table from Dumbledore, glaring at the Potions master.

"Pardon?" Snape said softly. Hermione instantly recognised the dangerous tone hidden in the single word.

"Voldemort doesn't usually have you out in the field, so to speak, does he?" Moody went on. "Got you hidden away, brewing all those nasty, illicit mixtures for him. Why this time?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I think I can answer that, Alastor," he said calmly.

Hermione turned to Dumbledore, but noticed everyone else in the room was looking at either her or Snape, who had stepped forward at Moody's accusation and was now directly behind her.

"Miss Granger has been assisting Severus with some of the potions he brews for the school," Dumbledore said, "to allow him time to work on more pressing projects. This arrangement seems to have come to Voldemort's attention, and I believe he thought the attack would be a, shall we say, _test_, for Severus."

A murmur went around the room until Moody spoke up again loudly.

"How did Voldemort find out she was working with you, Snape? Been bragging about your fortunate little arrangement to your Master, have you?"

Hermione heard the slightest intake of breath from Snape as the room went quiet, waiting for his reaction. The enmity between Moody and the Potions master was well-known, though the reasons were not. Normally their dislike of one another was confined to passing shots, however, not open accusations in front of the entire group.

"Alastor," the Headmaster started to say warningly, but Snape interrupted.

"Questioning my motives again, Moody?" he sneered at the ex-Auror. "It really is becoming tiresome, you know."

"I'll continue to question your motives as long as they're questionable, Snape," Moody replied. "You might have fooled everyone else around here, but I'm not so easily convinced."

"What does he have to do to convince you?" Hermione said suddenly. Moody's magical eye swung down to fix on her, a surprised look in the electric-blue orb.

"You keep out of this, missy," he growled. "Don't interfere in things you don't understand."

"Don't understand?' Hermione repeated in disbelief. "Keep out of this? I'm right in the thick of this, or weren't you listening to what happened last night?" She stood up angrily, looking around at the rest of the Order before turning back to Moody. "Professor Snape risked his position as a spy as well as his _life_ last night to help me and my parents, and instead of thanking him, you have the gall to question his loyalties! Does he have to _die_ for the cause before you'll believe he's really on our side?"

There was dead silence following her outburst, and she sat down again, breathing heavily and glaring at Moody with a defiant expression.

The ex-Auror stared back for a moment, then rose from his seat at the table and stumped around to the side of the room where she sat. He spared her one last glance and then turned to Snape, who was still standing behind her.

"Found yourself a loyal little supporter here, haven't you, Snape?" he leered, his face inches from Snape's own, which was fixed in a look of utter distaste. "Looks can be deceiving. Didn't think she'd be the type to take the only thing _you_ have to offer in return, eh?"

There were a couple of gasps in the room, and Molly's exclamation of, "Alastor Moody!" could be heard over them. Hermione felt her cheeks go warm with embarrassment and she craned her neck around to see two angry spots appearing on Snape's cheeks, too.

"I'll thank you not to make such insinuations about a student in my care," Snape hissed.

Moody smiled contemptuously, narrowing his one good eye for a moment, before he brushed past the Potions master and stumped the rest of the way to the kitchen door.

"Keep an eye on him, Dumbledore," he called over his shoulder. "Remember what I keep saying: some spots _never_ come off."

The kitchen door slammed in his wake.

Hermione looked at Snape again, who seemed to be concentrating on breathing evenly through his nose, a vein pulsing rapidly in his temple the only outward sign of his anger. She was seething at Moody's accusations, too. She'd never liked the ex-Auror much, despite Harry and Ron's high opinion of his skills. She had previously thought her distrust of him sprung from the fact that she was always wondering if it really _was_ Moody, or merely another Polyjuiced imposter. She realised now it wasn't that, but his refusal to see anyone else's opinion that bothered her so.

"Well," said the Headmaster, frowning at the closed door, "now that we've cleared that up, perhaps we can move along. Where were we?"

"How Voldemort knew what Hermione was doing," Harry spoke up.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore gravely. "That is the question, since none outside the Order were aware of the arrangement, save for Madam Pomfrey, who is wholly above suspicion."

"How did he find out, then?" piped up a tall, blonde wizard standing across the room. Hermione had only seen him in the hallways of Grimmauld Place a few times, and didn't know his name.

"I don't know," said the Headmaster. "I am worried, however. This isn't the first piece of information to escape the confines of our membership recently."

A murmur rippled through the room again as everyone present realised the implication of Dumbledore's words.

"A spy?" Bill Weasley's voice came from across the room where the oldest of the six brothers was leaning against the mantel of the fireplace.

"I don't know," the Headmaster repeated wearily. "I see no other way the information can be escaping, though I cannot bring myself to suspect anyone in this room of working against us."

The members of the Order glanced around at one another, obviously coming to the same conclusion. Many of the group had been working together for years, even since before the first fall of Voldemort, and trusted one another with their lives. Still, Hermione could see the disquiet they all felt at the possibility one of their own was betraying them.

The meeting turned to other matters after a while. Hermione, Harry and Ron weren't asked to leave the meeting, and despite being genuinely interested in the Order's work, Hermione was struggling to stay awake. It wasn't surprising, she realised. She hadn't slept since Christmas night, aside from the short, restless nap at Snape's house after the escape from her own.

Various operations were discussed, and when the reports had been given, the crowd began to thin out as the many Order members retreated back to the tasks at hand, or to different areas of the house to which they were, for the moment, confined.

Harry and Ron beckoned for Hermione to follow them from the room, and she nodded briefly to Snape, who had moved over to where Dumbledore was speaking with Lupin.

He inclined his head, giving her a slightly curious look, and she followed her friends upstairs.

* * *

Snape watched Hermione exit the kitchen in tow of her friends. He'd seen Potter call on her, and he was surprised when she looked around at him before following her younger friend. She hadn't been seeking his approval, but he found himself slightly pleased she'd looked to him to acknowledge that she was leaving. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Lupin. "So, Severus," he said amiably, "are you finding Hermione to be an acceptable assistant? You seem quite comfortable with one another."

Snape narrowed his eyes at the werewolf. Had Lupin seen the look he'd exchanged with Hermione as she left the room, and was he thinking along the same lines as Moody?

Lupin chuckled at the dark look, though. "Oh, lower your hackles, Severus," he said lightly. "I'm not implying anything. I'm only saying it's good that you've found someone both competent and agreeable to help you."

Snape merely grunted, and this time Dumbledore and Lupin both chuckled.

"He's not denying it," Lupin said to the Headmaster, "so it must be true."

Snape folded his arms across his chest and glared at Lupin.

"Miss Granger is a competent assistant and an intelligent young woman," he said stiffly.

Lupin chuckled again, but said no more and took his leave from the kitchen. Sitting at the now-deserted long table, Dumbledore smiled in his usual, infuriating way, and said, "Admit it, Severus; you enjoy having her around."

"It's not about what I enjoy," Snape protested, though he could feel faint spots of colour appearing high on his cheeks. "It's about her safety, which you cannot deny has been compromised by this plan of yours, whatever it is."

"Trust me, my boy," Dumbledore reassured him. "It will work out in the end. We will make sure you have enough useful information from Miss Granger to keep Tom happy, and once Saturday comes you'll need her assistance more than ever. I highly doubt a single batch of the Cruciatus Potion will satisfy Tom; he's likely to want a fresh brew every week."

"I've told both you and her repeatedly, Albus," he said, also taking a seat at the table. "I will not allow her to brew the potion."

"And well you shouldn't," the Headmaster agreed. "But you'll need her help with the rest of your work, if you are to manage it all on time."

Snape couldn't deny that. He already felt he was reaching the end of his tether, and the next few months were only going to become more demanding on him, both physically and mentally. He wouldn't admit it to the Headmaster, but the time he spent with Hermione in the lab was the only time he could really allow himself to relax and drop his guard these days.

"She will be well-protected within the school, Severus," the Headmaster reassured him, "and by the time she has reason to leave, I daresay this war will be over, one way or another."

For some reason Snape couldn't explain, that thought wasn't as comforting as it should have been.

Snape sighed. "I just hope you know what you're doing, old man."

The door to the kitchen swung open and Lupin, Tonks and Molly Weasley re-entered the room. Snape stood up from the table and was almost at the door to the hallway when Dumbledore stopped him.

"Severus, I may be here for some time tonight. There is still much to discuss. I wonder if you would be so kind as to escort Miss Granger back to school?"

"Oh, but Albus," Molly broke in. "Surely she could stay and catch the train back with Harry and Ron tomorrow? Merlin knows the girl hasn't had much of a holiday so far."

Dumbledore was shaking his head before Molly had finished speaking.

"I'm afraid not. It would be best if Miss Granger returned to Hogwarts tonight." He turned to Snape, smiling behind his beard. "Severus, if you don't mind?"

Dumbledore knew very well he didn't mind, but for the benefit of the other occupants of the room, Snape fixed a look of indifference on his face and drawled, "I daresay I shall manage, given it was I who escorted the girl here in the first place."

He spun on his heel, closing the kitchen door behind him as Molly called out, "I think she's in the library!"

"Typical," he muttered, though without a hint of displeasure, since there was no one to hear him.

He did, indeed, find her in the library, curled up fast asleep on one of the comfortable-looking couches, her head on Ron Weasley's shoulder. Snape felt an odd flash of jealously at the cosiness of the scene, but kept his face impassive.

The red-haired boy was playing a game of chess with Potter, who sat across from the pair in an armchair, and both boys looked up, startled, as Snape strode into the room.

"Professor?" Potter watched him warily as he stopped a short distance from them, arms folded.

"Miss Granger is to come with me back to Hogwarts tonight."

The bushy head didn't move, but Weasley's eyes flashed as he said, "Give her a break! She hasn't slept since Christmas night! Why can't she stay with us?"

Snape sneered at the young Weasley, noting with some surprise that Potter hadn't chimed in with an objection of his own.

"Despite what you may think is best, Mr Weasley, the Headmaster has spoken. I have neither the time nor inclination to stand here and wait for you to finish your little cuddling session," he said, smirking as the top of the boy's ears turned an interesting shade of red. More loudly, he added, "Miss Granger!"

She stirred and brushed her hair back from her eyes, her gaze falling on him.

"S-"

"Miss Granger!" he barked again, thankfully startling her into silence. He knew what she'd been about to say, sleep having clouded her brain. The last thing he needed was for Potter and Weasley hearing their best friend address him with such familiarity. They'd probably accuse him of slipping her a coercion draught.

"Professor Snape?" She recovered from her fright, sitting up straighter and regarding him with a mixture of anticipation and embarrassment.

"The Headmaster has decided you are to return to Hogwarts tonight," he said. "I shall expect you downstairs in no more than five minutes."

Without waiting for a response from any of the trio, he turned and exited the room, closing the door a little too forcefully in his wake.

Outside in the hallway, he stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

_Pull yourself together, man,_ he admonished himself, straightening his shoulders and heading for the stairs at the end of the hall. _She was merely spending some time with her friends... her _other_ friends,_ he added.

He didn't quite know what had roiled him so much about the scene he had just witnessed... or more likely he didn't want to acknowledge why he had been consciously reminding himself to unclench his fists whilst in the room.

Perhaps it was the look of content on Hermione's face as she was curled up against Weasley's side, or the simple cosiness of the three friends enjoying a few moments in a quietness seldom found lately.

No, in truth, it was the memory of feeling her curled up against _his_ side in the same fashion, fast asleep, less than twenty-four hours ago. It had been heartening for him to have her find comfort in his presence, and to realise she trusted him enough to allow herself to fall asleep. Upon seeing her with her friends and hearing Weasley's retort about her lack of sleep, the realisation had hit him that it probably hadn't been comfort in his presence at all; she'd just been too tired to keep her eyes open, regardless of who the warm body alongside her belonged to.

It must be lack of sleep on his part that was causing him to react in such an uncharacteristic way. Was he actually _jealous_ of the easy camaraderie she shared with her fellow Gryffindors?

He would have sneered at himself for such a thought, were it not for the sudden pang in his chest that betrayed him. Merlin, he must be getting soft. Such ridiculous sentimentality he normally left for the Headmaster; Slytherins didn't show their true feelings, nor wear their hearts on their sleeves, especially not a Slytherin in a position such as his. Feelings and emotions would only serve to distract him, making him easy prey to the mind-games of the Dark Lord.

Yet, for all his protestations, he couldn't deny there was something about his young friend that made him wish he _could_ just be who he was. Without consciously trying, he'd allowed her to see more and more of his real self these past few weeks, rather than the cold, uncaring person others thought he was.

She'd warmed to him, pushing him to open up even more, and he'd given in to her gentle prodding with hardly a protest, by his standards, anyway. Of course, he'd put up a good show of resisting her, especially earlier that day. He'd been reluctant to reveal too much of himself, lest she be scared or disapproving or, worst of all, revolted, and distance herself from him again.

But she hadn't. Her brown eyes had been filled with such compassion as she'd traced the old scars on his chest... a shiver ran along his spine at the phantom memory of her touch.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He had enough to worry about in his current situation without such trivial insecurities adding to the problem.

And he had almost convinced himself his feeling for the young Gryffindor were trivial.

Almost.

* * *

Hermione stood up, smoothing her slightly-rumpled clothes as the door slammed behind Snape. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he seemed almost angry to find her in the company of her friends. 

"Bloody hell," exclaimed Ron. "After everything you've been through, you'd think the git would give you a break. How insensitive can he be?"

"You're talking about Snape, here," Harry muttered.

Hermione sighed. "It's okay. I think if anyone needs a break, it's probably him."

Ron shook his head. "I know you're spending a lot of time with him, 'Mione, but it's beyond me why you keep defending him when he's so nasty."

"He saved my life, Ron," she admonished, "and risked his own in doing so. Doesn't that count for something?"

Ron mumbled something under his breath but didn't concede the point.

"And he's not really nasty," she murmured, stretching slightly as she massaged her stiff neck.

"Could have fooled me," Ron said waspishly, prodding his knight forwards across the chess board.

"He _is_ fooling you, Ron," she bit out, exasperated by his constant mistrust of the Potions master. "He has to fool everyone, or have you forgotten what he does when he's not teaching classes? What would Voldemort say if he found out Snape was favouring Gryffindors or Muggle-borns over the children of Death Eaters?"

"No one could hear him tonight," Ron replied. "I can understand him being a git in public – occasionally – but there's no excuse here."

"There _might_ be someone to hear him, Ron," Harry cautioned. "Remember, we still don't know if someone in the Order is playing both sides... someone _other_ than Snape, I mean. You heard what Dumbledore said; he has no idea how the information is leaking out."

"The walls have ears, especially in a house like this," Hermione added. "Until the spy is caught, everyone has to be careful, but especially Professor Snape."

Ron looked uncomfortable. "I suppose you're right," he said at length.

"I'll be off, then," Hermione said. "I don't want to keep Professor Snape waiting, so I'll see you two tomorrow when the train arrives."

She made for the door, but stopped when Harry called her name. Both her friends approached her, and then, in unison, embraced her in a tight hug.

"We're glad you're okay," Harry said quietly, his voice muffled in her hair. Ron echoed the sentiment over her other shoulder, and she murmured her thanks. Pulling away, she fixed both her friends with a brief smile, and left the room.

None of the trio had noticed the quiet rustling in a dark corner of the library; the walls had ears, indeed.

* * *

Hermione Flooed back to Hogwarts with Snape a short time later. She stood slightly awkwardly in the middle of the sitting room as the Potions master shucked off his outer robe and frock coat, tossing them over the back of the couch. 

"What are you going to do?" she asked, watching him set up a large cauldron on one of the workbenches.

"I have a potion to make, if you recall," he said shortly.

_The Cruciatus Potion_, she thought, her eyes drifting to his desk and the notebook, still sitting where he had left it earlier.

"Do you need me to do anything?"

"I thought we'd been over this, Hermione," he sighed, turning to the cabinets and unwarding them with a flick of his wand.

"No," she said. "I meant, is there anything else I can do? Anything else that needs brewing?"

He shook his head, regarding her with a contemplative look as he returned to the workbench, arms full of phials and jars of ingredients.

"You really do need to rest," he said again. "As much as it pains me to admit it, Weasley was right; you can't have had more than a few hours sleep in the last couple of days."

"Neither have you," she pointed out.

"I am accustomed to sleeping very little," he answered. "You, on the other hand, are not. I believe you have Potions first thing Monday morning, and it would be a shame for me to have to deduct points from Gryffindor if you fall asleep in my class."

She narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't!"

"Don't think our friendship is going to change the way I treat you in class, Hermione," he warned darkly. "You know what the consequences of such a display would be."

"I know," she sighed, pulling up a stool and sitting across from where he'd begun to chop a handful of fluxweed roots. "I just wish it was different."

His dark eyes met hers, a mixture of surprise, appreciation and regret in their depths. "So do I, Hermione," he murmured. "So do I."

She sat silently, watching his hands expertly preparing the ingredients with a precision she could only dream of having. She supposed it came with years of practice, but there was no doubting his natural talent for the art, either. He seemed to follow his instincts as much as any written recipe, and from what she'd read of his research – which was very little of the whole – his instincts often proved to be the more successful of the two.

After some half hour of silence, Snape put his knife down and laid his hands flat on the table. The stillness brought Hermione back from her wandering thoughts, and she looked up at his face.

"At the risk of repeating myself," he said earnestly, "are you going to sit there and watch me all night?"

She looked away. The truth was, she didn't fancy going back to the deserted Gryffindor Tower. She knew the castle was safe enough; safer, possibly, than when it was full of students, but she didn't think spending the night alone, half a castle away from the nearest person, would give her a good night's sleep. Not after what had happened just last night.

"Something is bothering you," Snape commented. It wasn't a question, but he was watching her expectantly for an answer, nonetheless.

She sighed, and after a moment of indecision, told him what she was feeling.

"…I just feel safer being around... someone," she said at the end of her explanation, adding wryly, "It's silly, I know."

"It's perfectly understandable, given all that has happened. However, that still doesn't solve the issue of sleep. You'll get no rest if you sit here watching me all night, though-" his lips quirked up a little, "-potions has been known to put the odd student to sleep."

She smiled faintly and Snape went back to his ingredients, carefully adding the fluxweed to a small phial of Chinese ephedra infusion.

Hermione waited a bit longer, her eyes growing heavier by the minute, before she hesitantly asked, "Do you think I could sleep on your couch, just for a few hours?"

"The couch is for sitting, not sleeping," he replied with a frown.

"You didn't have any trouble earlier," she retorted.

He raised an eyebrow at her tone. "I'll thank you to remember these are my quarters and I can do as I please. You, however, do not have that luxury."

"I still don't see the problem," she grumbled. "I'll sleep better on a couch down here than in a bed five floors away from the nearest person."

"The difference, Hermione," he said, putting down the flask he had been about to measure a viscous red liquid from, "is that you need a full night of decent sleep, and a couch is not conducive to a restful slumber."

"But-"

He held up a hand to stop her protest, and appeared to deliberate something before he spoke again.

"Do you truly think you cannot sleep in Gryffindor Tower tonight?"

She shook her head.

"You may stay here, then," he sighed. "However, you will have a proper night of sleep _in a bed_."

"You have a second bedroom?"

It was his turn to shake his head, and she stared at him incredulously. "_Your_ bed?"

He straightened his back slightly and folded his arms across his chest, correcting interpreting her shocked expression.

"Don't _you_ start thinking like that paranoid Moody," he said stiffly. "This potion requires my full attention for the next ten hours, and I won't have you sleeping on a couch while a perfectly good bed lies empty."

The offer was completely unexpected, though very welcome. It was also, she realised later, a mark of how much he really trusted her, that he would not only allow her into his personal domain as he had earlier that day, but let her stay there by herself, without fear of her nosing around and exploiting that trust.

"Are you sure that's okay?" she asked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow again. "I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't," he said seriously.

"Thank you," she said, prompting a strange look from him.

"You seem to be saying that a lot lately," he commented in response to her expression.

"I seem to have good cause to," she replied, earning a smirk from him.

"Well," she said a short while later, having watched him set up the cauldron and add the first ingredients. "I guess I should be, um, going to sleep, then."

He nodded absently, concentrating as he measured out a dark blue liquid and poured it into the large cauldron, increasing the flame beneath it with his wand. "The door isn't warded. If you need anything, you'll have to arrange it yourself. I cannot leave this now."

She stood up and crossed the room. Stopping next to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly and trying to convey her thanks without resorting to saying the word every time. She withdrew after a moment and headed for the door.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

She turned, but his attention was on the potion once again, his face illuminated by the glow of the flames beneath the cauldron over which he was bent.

"Goodnight, Severus," she echoed, and pulled the door over behind her, leaving it slightly ajar.

Making her way through to the Potions master's bedroom, the strangeness of the situation suddenly hit her. She wondered whether this was what the Headmaster had in mind when he told her back in November, "He is going to need someone he can rely on before this war is over."

She doubted even the Dumbledore could have imagined how well they would get on together; she'd certainly never dreamed of having anything beyond a uneasy truce with the Potions master she thought she had known before this all began.

She was in his private quarters, there was hardly another soul in the school, and she was going to sleep in his bed. _Without him_, she added, but pushed that thought away before she had time to dwell on how she felt about it.

Walking over to the windows, she pushing the heavy curtains back slightly, allowing a little moonlight to filter into the room. She toed off her shoes and pulled her jumper over her head, opting to leave everything else on, even though her jeans would be slightly uncomfortable to sleep in.

The covers of the bed were slightly rumpled from where he'd lain earlier that day for her to heal his ribs. She shivered involuntarily, remembering the cool skin under her touch and the raised welts of the scars he hadn't wanted her to see. The look on his face when she had seen them had startled and confused her; did he really think she would be revolted by them, that she would pass judgement on him based on something beyond his control?

The fact that her opinion obviously mattered to him was strange, too. He'd never struck her as someone who cared much for what others thought of him.

Musing on that, she climbed under the bedclothes and sank back into the soft pillows. The fresh, earthy smell that always hung about Snape filled about the room, and she turned on her side, clutching one of the pillows to her in a mock embrace.

If she listened very carefully, she could hear faint sounds from the lab; the clinking of glass phials, and the sharp tap of the knife as the Potions master worked tirelessly.

Her eyelids grew heavier and she inhaled deeply through her nose, taking in the familiar scent which had come to mean comfort and safety to her in such uncertain times. If she hugged the pillow a little tighter, she could almost imagine it was a warm body next to her.

Almost.

* * *

Hours later, Severus Snape put down his stirring rod and stepped back from the cauldron. The next fifteen minutes were the only time in the marathon ten hour brewing process that he could allow his attention to wander at all, as it had to stand undisturbed before the next ingredient could be added. 

He eyed the many phials and jars of ingredients he had lined up in preparation for the next stage. Everything was ready, and he could take a break for a few minutes.

Unconsciously, he found himself leaving the workroom and crossing the sitting room to stand just outside his bedroom door. He couldn't hear anything from within, though the door was ajar, and he questioned exactly what he was doing.

It couldn't hurt just to poke his head around the door and make sure she was okay, could it?

Pushing the door open slightly more, he slipped just inside the room and glanced across to the bed. A sliver of moonlight was shining across it through the open curtains, falling across the sleeping figure of Hermione.

She was lying on her side, clutching one of his pillows to her body in a fierce embrace, and her untameable hair had fallen across her face, obscuring it from his view. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself across the room, standing alongside the bed and reaching out to carefully brush the twisted locks aside.

The moonlight fell across her face, illuminating her sleeping features and the soft brown eyelashes resting on her cheeks. He stared, mesmerised by the smoothness of her skin and the quiet sound of her breathing.

Though he had denied it earlier, he realised he was only fooling himself if he couldn't admit he felt something beyond friendship for this young woman. She had surprised him in so many ways.

She made a sudden movement in her sleep and he stepped back. It wouldn't do for her to wake to find him looming over her in such a manner. She would want to know why, and he didn't think he'd be able to lie convincingly enough; not about that, and not to her.

He cursed silently as he reluctantly left the room and returned to the potion. As welcome as it was, she was certainly proving to be a distraction. He wondered idly if this was what the Headmaster had in mind when he pushed them together in the first place.

Knowing Albus Dumbledore, he wouldn't discount anything.

* * *

Hermione awoke the next morning feeling more rested than she had in weeks. She found Snape in the workroom, still labouring over the cauldron, and looking more tired than ever. 

She knew he couldn't rest until that particular stage of brewing was over, though, so not wanting to distract him, and still feeling just a little bit awkward about having spent the night in his bed, she excused herself from his presence and made her way up to Gryffindor Tower.

The day passed quickly, between finishing the last of her holiday assignments and ordering new books via Owl Order to replace the ones she'd taken home with her before Christmas. She went down to visit Hagrid after lunch, and then, later in the afternoon, went with him to Hogsmeade Station to meet the Hogwarts Express.

She embraced Harry and Ron fiercely even though she'd only seen them the night before, and they talked endlessly as they made their way up to the castle for dinner.

The common room was noisy that night, with many students showing off their Christmas presents in the form of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, Zonko's jokes, chess sets, Gobstones and Exploding Snap.

Hermione's only two surviving Christmas presents were the book Snape had given her, now stowed safely in her room, and the necklace from her parents. She had still been wearing it the night the Death Eaters attacked, and wondered if it _was_ merely superstition that the rune offered some real protection… maybe they'd just been lucky.

The attack on Hermione's home, much to her relief, didn't seem to be public knowledge, and the only person who asked her about it was Neville, who'd obviously heard of the ordeal through his grandmother and her connections.

It wasn't long before Hermione was yawning, and she bid her friends goodnight and headed to her room, placing a Silencing Charm on her door out of habit.

Climbing into bed in the darkness, she lay on her back, staring up at the canopy. Something felt wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Clutching her pillow tightly, she stared into the silent darkness, tossing and turning for a good many hours before sleep finally came.

* * *

Long after Hermione had fallen asleep high up in Gryffindor Tower, Severus Snape finally made it to his own bed, stripping off his clothes and sinking tiredly into the layers of bedclothes. He'd been up for three days straight and despite telling Hermione he didn't need much rest, even he had his limits. 

Hermione.

She was only one of the many things that had been giving him sleepless nights lately, and not only because of what had happened over Christmas.

In befriending her, he had ceased to view her as a student, for the most part. The downside of that was that he was instead forced to view her as a young woman, and despite vehemently repeated protests by the moral part of his brain, his body was telling him that he very much liked what he saw.

Every time his thoughts began to wander, a niggling voice in his mind began to chant, "_Student, student, student_," over and over in strange mantra, but his body and the rest of his mind was paying no attention.

Under any other circumstances, he would have been appalled by his traitorous thoughts. There was nothing more repulsive than a teacher lusting after a student in their care, but although he'd described Hermione as exactly that when questioned the previous night by Moody, she really was much more. Despite her student status, she was an adult, a friend, an equal and someone who, despite his initial misgivings, he knew he could trust more implicitly than he ever had anyone, save perhaps the Headmaster.

Not that it really mattered anyway, because he was merely thinking aloud. He would never betray the trust placed in him as a teacher, and the chances of her reciprocating his feelings were even lower than the chances of him surviving this infernal war... in other words, next to nothing.

Sinking further under the bedcovers, he shut his eyes and tried to push all thoughts of her from his head, but something was preventing it from happening. Turning his head slightly into one of his pillows, he realised what it was. The image from the previous night came into his mind, of her clinging to the same pillow as she slept. He inhaled the scent that still clung about the bed. It was an intoxicating fragrance; fruit and jasmine, with a hint of vanilla.

He cursed loudly as he felt his body reacting to the thought of a woman in his bed, and rolled onto his stomach in a vain effort to quash his arousal. Perhaps his thoughts were merely a by-product of being near a woman – any woman - who voluntarily placed herself in close proximity to him. It wasn't something he experienced on a regular basis, and his body was going to great lengths to remind him of the fact.

Still, he couldn't quite push the image out of his mind of her sleeping form the previous night, and found himself dangerously close to admitting how much he'd wanted to be there with her.

With thoughts such as that, it was little wonder his body wouldn't allow him any respite. After an hour of restless indecision grappling with his mind and his morals, he groaned and rolled onto his back, giving in to the traitorous desires of his body.

There was no pleasure in the quick, insistent strokes of his hand; only the need for a release that would put his body at ease, even if his mind remained in turmoil.

There was no sound in the room but the soft slick of flesh on flesh beneath the sheets, and a harshening of his breath as he neared his peak. He could still smell her scent clinging to the bedclothes around him as a single, whispered word spilt from his mouth.

"_Hermione_."

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Notes:_

_1. Yes, I'm still here. HBP was certainly a kick in the guts as far as this story goes (don't get me wrong – I still loved it) but I plan to continue in AU territory for as long as people still want to read it._

_2. If you've read this far, you can now see why I've permanently increased the rating for the story. Er... yes, that was a little different, wasn't it? Well, he is a man, after all._

_3. As always, you can find the next chapter at the On-line Wizarding Library right now! See my author page for the link.  
_

_4. There is no doubt in my mind Snape is good, and I will believe that until Book 7 tells me otherwise. If that should happen... well, you know what they say... the bad girls have more fun. Dark side, here I come. :P_


	22. A New Hope

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 22**

The next morning, it became apparent to Hermione that while the majority of the school was unaware of what had happened to her and her family over Christmas, it was no secret amongst a certain group of Slytherins.

As she entered the Great Hall for breakfast, Crabbe called out loudly, "Have a nice Christmas, Mudblood?"

The group around him snickered loudly, and Hermione grabbed Harry and Ron to stall their movement toward the Slytherins.

"They're not worth it," she said through gritted teeth, pulling her two friends over to the Gryffindor table. She could feel her own anger bubbling just below the surface, but there was no point causing a scene. Still, she hated the fact that they were openly gloating about what had happened.

"I bet you anything his dad was one of them at your house," Ron said roughly, spreading jam onto his toast with such force that he put his knife through the bread.

"Yeah," Hermione murmured, attacking her own toast with a little less gusto.

She glanced up at the Head Table as she raised the toast to her mouth, and was surprised to see Snape present, holding a steaming mug between both hands as he watched the same group of Slytherins. His eyes flickered in her direction with a questioning gaze, but she shook her head slightly and looked away. Further down the Slytherin table, away from the raucous crowd surrounding the Death Eaters' sons, she didn't notice Draco Malfoy looking from Snape to her, and back again.

A short while later, she arrived at the Potions classroom alone, having left Harry in the Entrance Hall discussing Quidditch with the two Gryffindor Beaters.

The classroom door was closed, and the only other student present was Malfoy, lounging casually against the stone wall of the corridor.

"Granger," he said, as she stopped a short distance from him and put down her heavy bag.

"Malfoy," she said stiffly, glancing back down the corridor in the hope that the other students weren't too far away. There was no one in sight.

After a moment of silence, the blonde said casually, "I wondered whether you'd be back this term."

Hermione turned to look at him, eyes narrowed.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Malfoy," she said coolly. "Your father must have been terribly disappointed that he couldn't deliver his intended, uh, what would you call it, _Christmas gift_?"

Angry spots appeared high on Malfoy's cheeks, but he didn't say anything.

"What, no insult today?" she scorned. "No _Mudblood_ or some other foul variation?"

Malfoy sighed loudly and said, "Honestly, Granger, when was the last time I called you that?"

"I- " The retort died on her lips as she realised she couldn't actually remember the last time he'd called her a Mudblood. In fact, outside a scant few meetings with Dumbledore that required the presence of both the Head Girl and Boy, she couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to her at all. Odd, given how readily he had insulted her in their earlier years.

"Oh, that's right," she said in mock comprehension. "You've probably moved on from insulting Mudbloods. Following in your father's footsteps and killing them instead, are you?"

Malfoy pale face drained of even more colour, and he move close to Hermione, his grey eyes boring into hers.

"I'm not my father, Granger," he hissed. "So don't come to me all high and mighty to talk about prejudices if you can't recognise that."

Hermione stared at him, confused, and he stepped back from her, resuming his leaning stance against the wall.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked finally. "Why the nice-boy act all of a sudden?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it, and Hermione heard a throat being cleared behind her. She turned and followed Malfoy's gaze to Snape, who was standing a short distance away with his arms folded.

"Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy," Snape said calmly. "I do hope the Head Boy and Girl aren't quarrelling in public. That doesn't set a very good example, does it?"

"No, sir," Hermione said. Malfoy didn't answer, and Snape frowned slightly at the Slytherin before moving past both of them to open the classroom door.

"After you, Granger," Malfoy said, a little too politely. Hermione glared at him and strode into the classroom, sitting at her usual table near the back. Malfoy followed and walked past her to his own desk at the front of the room, followed by Snape, who gave her an odd look when Malfoy's back was turned.

She ignored him, but then, when he was seated behind his desk at the front of the room, said, "Sir, are we starting something new today?"

The class had completed the Polyjuice project a week before Christmas, and had spent the lessons after that studying the theory of charmed potions, or, as Hermione jokingly referred to them one night in the lab, 'Potions that _do_ require foolish wand waving'. Snape hadn't been amused.

"Patience, Miss Granger," the Potions master sneered. "Surely you can wait the five minutes until the rest of your classmates arrive?"

Malfoy snickered, and Hermione ducked her head, but not in embarrassment at being scorned by her professor. She did it to hide her smirk at how convincingly he still managed to insult her.

"How were your holidays, sir?" Malfoy asked loudly as the rest of the class started to file in.

Snape's face gave nothing away as he answered, "Acceptable, Mr Malfoy. Time away from idiotic teenagers is always a bonus."

Hermione only just managed not to laugh outright at that veiled insult, and composed herself as the last students, Harry, entered the room, taking his seat reluctantly next to Malfoy, and Snape began a short review of what they'd learnt of charms potions so far.

"The term 'charmed' is deceptive in potions making, as most charms are relatively simple incantations requiring little of the caster's power," Snape lectured, standing at the front of the room with his arms folded. "Charmed potions, however, require much more concentration and the ability to properly focus your magic. The process can be exhausting, even for a fully-trained witch or wizard, and is made only more difficult by the need to incant using your non-preferred wand hand. Can anyone tell me why this is so?"

Hermione raised her hand, as did Malfoy and, to her surprise, Harry.

Snape, too, looked vaguely surprised for a moment, before he said, "Well, Mr Potter, we'll see if you've finally been reading your textbook. Go on."

"You have to use your normal wand hand to add ingredients to the potion," Harry answered, "and some charmed potions require you to add ingredients and cast charms at the same time, so you need to use both hands."

"A partial answer," Snape commented, and Hermione could imagine Harry's glare. It was actually quite a good answer.

"Does anyone have anything to add?" he enquired.

This time, Hermione was the only one to raise her hand, and Snape nodded in her direction.

"Very well, Miss Granger?"

"Ingredients should be added with your wand hand because that is your preferred hand, the one you write with, and is much steadier than the other, unless you're ambidextrous. Charmed potions usually have more complex requirements in terms of adding ingredients, too, such as distributing them evenly, therefore you need the steadiest hand possible. The charms, however, while complex in themselves, need only to be directed into the cauldron, which is possible even with your non-preferred hand."

"A concise explanation," Snape commented, though he didn't go so far as to award points.

"So," he continued. "Because of the precision required in these potions, you will again be working with a partner _of my choosing_."

Hermione could almost see Harry sink further into his seat, until Snape added, "A different partner from your last project."

Harry sat up straighter as Snape began pairing off the class. As the students moved to sit with their partners around her, Hermione had a sneaking suspicion she was being left until last for a reason, a suspicion which was confirmed when Snape folded the parchment of names and said, smirking slightly, "Miss Granger, you will be partnering Mr Malfoy for this project."

Hermione glared daggers at Snape as she grabbed her bag, book and parchments, and went to sit next to her new partner. Malfoy was glaring at Snape, too, apparently not pleased with his second Gryffindor partner in as many projects.

The remainder of the lessons was spent taking notes on the complicated Indicii Memoria, a potion used to draw the drinker's memories from the subconscious mind to the conscious one for extraction into a Pensieve. The potion was most commonly used to capture repressed memories from a traumatised person in order to aid the capture and conviction of their assailants. Despite its potency, it was not strong enough to extract memories after a properly cast Obliviate, although a hastily cast memory charm could be broken down through prolonged use of the draught.

Despite sitting next to Malfoy, she managed to avoid conversing with him for the rest of the lessons, and left quickly with Harry as the bell rang. He seemed happier with his own partner, Ernie MacMillan, and that only served to worsen Hermione's mood.

After dinner that night, Hermione was still fuming as she made her way down to the workroom. She slammed to door to the hidden passage a little too forcefully, earning a raised eyebrow from Snape, who was sitting at his desk marking essays, red-inked quill in hand.

"Don't you give me that raised eyebrow, Severus Snape," she said angrily. "What were you thinking, pairing me with Malfoy? Has it escaped your mind that his father tried to kill me over the holidays?"

Snape put down the quill and leant back in his chair, regarding her with a frown.

"Draco Malfoy is not his father, Hermione."

She sat, uninvited, in the chair opposite her teacher. "He said the same thing to me in the corridor this morning, just before you arrived."

"Really?" Snape actually looked surprised at her pronouncement. "Perhaps it is doubly true, then."

"Hardly. He was just needling me to find out how upset I was over Christmas."

"Was he?" Snape asked, eyebrow raised again. "Or was he genuinely trying to have a civilised conversation with you?"

She snorted. "That will be the day. The only thing civilised about it was that he refrained from calling me a Mudblood."

"Hmmm," Snape said non-committedly, and picked up his quill again.

"But that still doesn't answer my original question, even if you tried to change the subject. Why do I have to work with him?"

"He and Mr Potter worked admirably well together, given their animosity in the past," Snape commented. "I would expect nothing less from you. Call it another exercise in inter-house relations."

"It's a bit late for that, I think," she muttered. "Working together isn't going to change his attitude towards me, or Muggle-borns in general. He's probably already got the mark on his arm to prove _that_.

Snape's face darkened.

"Draco Malfoy has _not_ taken the Dark Mark," he stated.

"Yet," Hermione added. "It's only a matter of time."

"And what would you have me do, Hermione? Sit him down for a chat, declare my true loyalties, and tell him there is another way besides the path his father has taken?"

"Of course not," she said. "He'd go straight back to his father and you'd be dead. He's probably acting this way on his father's orders to try to draw you into such a conversation, if Lucius Malfoy is as suspicious of you as you say."

Snape sat back again, rubbing his chin absently with one hand.

"Perhaps," he said slowly. "Although, Draco has made conscious effort since last summer to be civil, if not downright nice, to you; someone whom he has openly hated and ridiculed since your first year. Does it not occur to you to wonder why?"

Hermione snorted. "You actually think his efforts are sincere?"

"Yes, I do."

She stopped then, staring at the Potions master in disbelief.

"Why?"

Snape sighed.

"A feeling, more than anything," he admitted.

"And you would trust your instincts over seven years of insults, hexes and his father's influence on his perception?"

"People change, Hermione," he reminded her. "Even ones who are seemingly set on the road to ruin. It's not easy to turn away from everything you know or have been taught, but it can be done."

She got the feeling the Potions master was no longer referring to only Malfoy.

"I know it can be done," she said pointedly. "I just... I have a hard time believing Malfoy would be someone to do it without a momentous event changing his mind."

"Perhaps there had been such an event," Snape said, and upon seeing her curious look elaborated, "As I said, Draco has not yet taken the Mark, however he was permitted to attend a meeting last summer, and was witness to some of the... entertainment... therein. You know of what I speak?"

She nodded, feeling slightly sickened as she always did when he spoke of such things.

"It is my belief," he continued, "that he was not as smitten with what he saw as he made out to be. Oh, he put on a brave face and applauded his father's creativity, bowed down in the front of the Dark Lord and professed his desire to serve only him, but have you noticed some things have changed since he has returned to school this year?"

Hermione thought back to breakfast that morning, and the crowd of snickering Slytherins.

"He wasn't sitting with Crabbe and Goyle this morning," she mused, and Snape nodded approvingly at her insight.

"Yes," he said. "Nor has he been associating himself with those young men for most of this year, if you'd have cared to notice."

She hadn't noticed, mainly because she shared very few classes with the two lumbering Slytherins, and rarely paid much attention to either them or Malfoy when she saw them outside class.

"But..." she said slowly, as something occurred to her. "You said, when Goyle attacked me in the corridor, that there were two other Slytherins hiding nearby-"

"And you automatically assumed them to be Mr Malfoy and Mr Crabbe," he finished.

She bowed her head, realising her assumption had been hasty.

"Understandable," he commented, "given your history with the trio, however it was also a baseless assumption. No, Draco was not present at the time of your attack. Despite what you may think, he takes pride in his role as Head Boy, and would not be so foolish as to jeopardise that position with such actions."

Hermione sat silently for a moment as the Potions master picked up his quill again. Malfoy _had_ been difference this year; there was no denying it, now she thought about it. She had been too concerned with her own grades, the well-being of her best friends, and now, her work with Snape, to give a second thought to the Head Boy, but he certainly wasn't the immature, name-calling brat she'd known in past years.

"You think he's having second thoughts, then?" she asked finally.

"I don't know," Snape said, continuing to mark angry, red crosses on an unfortunate student's essay. "There really is no way of knowing unless he speaks to someone, and that someone certainly won't be me; not if he's considering a path other than the one he believes I have followed."

Hermione stared at Snape's bowed head, his dark hair absorbing the firelight rather than reflecting it, and a realisation hit her.

"That's why I'm working with him in Potions," she stated. "You're hoping he'll come to trust me and talk to me, if he's looking for a way out of joining the Death Eaters."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Snape murmured, marking a final, large D on the parchment before putting both it and his quill aside. "He and Mr Potter worked very well together in class, despite their mutual hatred, and I was hoping further association with others outside Slytherin might encourage Draco to consider all his options."

Hermione nodded. It _was_ a good idea, now that she could see the Potions master's reasons. She said as much, adding, "You still could have forewarned me, though."

"Ah, but that petulant glare you gave me was priceless," he smirked.

She huffed and went into the lab, his snort of amusement following her.

* * *

Two nights later was New Year's Eve, though, being a school night, very little in the way of festivities had been planned. Most of the students were in their common rooms by curfew, feasting on a special supper courtesy of the house elves while they waited to count in the new year.

Hermione, as per usual on a Wednesday night, was in Snape's lab, brewing a new base for the antidote to the Cruciatus potion he was to deliver to Voldemort that coming Saturday.

Harry and Ron had hardly blinked when she left the common room shortly after dinner to join Snape; they were used to the amount of time she spent with him, and pleased she was able to contribute to the war effort, even from within the school.

Snape, however, was surprised to see her.

"I didn't think I'd see you tonight," he commented from behind a tower of greenish-grey smoke rising from a large cauldron.

"Why not?" she asked nonchalantly, setting up her own cauldron on the next workbench and pouring the base potion from Monday night into it.

He looked at her pointedly. "It's New Year's Eve, Hermione. Those friends of yours will think I'm even crueller than usual, keeping you working on a night such as this."

"Actually, they didn't mind in the least," she said. "After all, it's not like New Year's is something, well, _new_. All we do is sit around in the common room drinking Butterbeer until midnight, hug everyone, sing those silly songs and then go to bed."

"I think my unsociable tendencies must be rubbing off on you," he muttered, shaking his head.

They worked in silence for most of the night, and Hermione hardly noticed the time pass. By the time she had chopped, sliced, measured and added the ingredients that made up the second stage of the antidote's brewing, it was ten minutes before midnight. Looking over at Snape, she saw him pouring a gelatinous red liquid into his own cauldron, stirring carefully. If she remembered correctly from her brief glance at the brewing method on the weekend, it had to be stirred for five minutes, then simmer untouched for half an hour.

Looking at the clock again, she slipped quietly out of the lab into the sitting room, grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stuck her head through the fireplace to connect with the kitchens. Even though she now recognised the futility of her failed S.P.E.W. project, she didn't like to take advantage of the house elves' readiness to help. This, however, was a special circumstance, and when she pulled back from the fireplace, she was clutching two bottles of Butterbeer.

She re-entered the lab just in time to see Snape step away from the now-simmering cauldron and sit on a nearby stool, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand, as she'd come to notice he did when tired.

She pulled up a stool next to the Potions master and placed one of the bottles on the bench in front of him, popping the cork off her own bottle as he favoured her with a questioning look.

"Butterbeer?" he asked.

"Well," she said defensively. "Just because we're down here doesn't mean we have to miss out on _all_ the festivities, though I won't go so far as to expect a hug from you."

Snape frowned a little, and she worried that she might have offended him, but then his face cleared. He regarded the bottle in front of him for a moment before reaching for it and popping the cork off, sniffing its contents.

"I haven't had Butterbeer for years," he commented idly.

In the silence of the lab, they heard the clock on the mantle in the next room begin to chime, signifying the start of the new year.

"Happy New Year, Severus," she said, raising her bottle towards him.

"And to you, Hermione," he said gravely, clinking his bottle against her own. "Let's hope this one is better than all those that have gone before it."

Before she could raise her bottle to take a sip, though, Snape surprised her, placing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. The hug was awkward, given they were sitting side-by-side at the workbench, but somehow she managed to extract her own arm from between them and place it around his back.

She twisted her head to look up at him, a pleased yet questioning look on her face. It was the first time he'd initiated anything remotely affectionate between them, and she was pleased that he help comfortable enough with her to do so. The corners of his mouth quirked up in half a smile.

"I couldn't have you miss out on the hugging _and_ singing," he quipped, "even with the Butterbeer."

"What, you're not going to sing for me?" she teased, feigning a hurt expression.

"The day I sing, Hermione Granger, will be the day Albus Dumbledore swears off sherbet lemons for life," he said darkly.

She laughed and took a sip of her drink, the liquid warming her insides as it went down. Snape had yet to remove his arm from around her, and she tilted her head to one side a little so it rested lightly on his shoulder. She felt rather than saw him glance sideways at her, but he didn't comment, and they sat there for some time in silence, Snape's long fingers toying idly with one of the corks on the bench.

_It will be a better year_, she thought to herself. New Year's Resolutions were a silly Muggle custom and something very seldom fulfilled, but the new year was a time for starting afresh, so Hermione made a silent vow to try her best to make Severus Snape's year better, however she could.

* * *

Saturday night came all too quickly, and Hermione was in the lab with Snape when his Dark Mark started burning. Abruptly changing direction from the ceaseless pacing he'd been doing for the last hour, he went to retrieve his cloak from the other room, then returned to gather the flasks of the completed Cruciatus potion.

Hermione watched him fearfully as he shrunk the flasks to small phials, and place them in an inner pocket of his heavy cloak. He shoved his wand up the sleeve of his frock coat, and then glanced over at her where she sat, nervously twisting her quill over and over in her hands. She'd actually come down to the lab to use some of the Potions master's extensive library, but between his pacing and her nervous anticipation of his summons, she'd made very little headway on the essay.

"Don't wait up," he said with a half-hearted smirk.

She didn't laugh, thinking of the last time he'd gone before his former master, and her distress must have shown on her face, because he crossed the room to her and said, "I'm just delivering the potion, Hermione. It works; it's exactly what he asked for. There's no reason for him to be displeased."

She nodded and he placed his hand on her shoulder briefly before he left the lab. A minute later, she heard the noise of him Flooing away from the sitting room.

She sighed and turned back to the textbooks she'd plucked off his shelves early, trying unsuccessfully to concentrate. It was no use, and she was distracted further by the same scratching sounds she'd heard twice before, coming from the other side of the room. _Why does it always happen when he'd not here?_ she thought, making a mental note to tell him about it when he returned. Surely a lab with such sensitive ingredients would be warded against vermin like rats and Doxies?

She sighed, resigned to not being able to get any work done, replaced the books on the shelf and packed away her parchments and quills.

Despite his quip before leaving, it had only been just under two hours when she heard the noise of the Floo again, and a moment later Snape appeared in the doorway.

She hopped off her stool and moved toward him, a quick appraisal showing her that he seemed to have returned in the same condition he left; tired but unhurt.

"Are you okay?" she enquired gently.

He nodded and beckoned her into the sitting room, where he pulled off his heavy cloak and sat in one of the armchairs, conjuring a teacup. She took the seat opposite, but declined his offer of tea, and watched him expectantly.

"It's done," he said. "The Dark Lord has the potion, and I've just been to inform the Headmaster that I'm none the wiser as to what he plans to do with it."

Hermione felt her stomach drop at the news. "He didn't tell you anything?"

"Not a thing," Snape confirmed heavily. "I delivered the potion, he tested that it worked, demanded double the quantity next Saturday, and dismissed me."

"Who did he test it- wait, he wants _double_ next week?"

Snape nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. "I don't know who he tested it on; a Death Eater he was displeased with, I think, but not someone I recognised. Possibly a new recruit."

"What did the Headmaster say about all this?" she enquired as Snape leant forwards resignedly to rest his chin on his hands, elbows on knees.

"The Headmaster thinks whatever casualties ensue will be worth the benefit of my continued position, though what benefit he sees in it now, I don't know. As it stands, I'm simply delivering weapons of mass destruction to the Dark Lord and returning with nothing."

Hermione didn't know what to say, for she, too, had wondered at the Headmaster's wisdom in continually supplying Voldemort with the potion, despite the alternative being Snape's exposure as a spy. At least, if that occurred, the Potions master could remain at Hogwarts in relative safety, and be freed from the burden of providing Voldemort with such a powerful yet clandestine means of killing.

"I suppose the Headmaster wants to keep you in the Dark Lord favour for as long as possible," she commented. "Having him discover your true loyalties during a final confrontation with Harry might just be the element of surprise and distraction needed to cast the final blow."

"That's exactly what Albus said," Snape returned with a sigh, getting up to pace in front of the fireplace. "Which is all very well, but he doesn't seem to consider the lives it will cost along the way. What if this so-called final confrontation isn't for six months, a year? How many people will have died by then? People who would have been helping us to _win_ that final confrontation? The Dark Lord has been strategically targeting Aurors and Order members in these latest attacks, and I doubt he'll deviate from that plan with the potion. If a potent enough dose is delivered, half of Dumbledore's supporters could permanently residents of St Mungo's before the end of June."

"What about the antidote?" Hermione asked, stricken by the picture he was painting with his words.

He chuckled bitterly. "The antidote that can't be used outside the walls of Hogwarts in case the Dark Lord gets wind of it and knows I've been working against him?"

"Not even at St Mungo's?"

He shook his head. "Hospitals are rife with gossip, especially between Healers and Mediwizards when new medicinal developments are afoot. Information escapes that place more readily that it does the Ministry."

"So, what are you going to do?" she asked, moving to stand beside him at the window, where he'd ceased his pacing.

"Nothing," he said, glancing at her, dark eyes filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness, before turning his gaze back to the darkened grounds through the window. "Dumbledore has spoken, and I'll do as he has asked."

Again, Hermione didn't know what to say, so she settled for resting her hand gently on his folded arm, near the crook of his elbow. He seemed to take comfort in the gesture, because his shifted his opposite hand to cover her own; it was cold, despite the warmth of the room. Time seemed to stand still as they stood side by side, Snape staring out across the landscape, Hermione watching the profile of his face as a myriad of emotions crossed the angular surface.

Despite her vow at the turn of the new year only three days prior, she had the unpleasant feeling this year was going to get much worse before it got better, particularly for Severus Snape.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Many thanks to hobbittabby for the distractions, suggestions and beta while writing this chapter, as well as the chapter title!_

_Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. I'm very happy to find so many of you are still reading a 'seventh-year fic' after Half-Blood Prince, and that you all seemed to enjoy the slightly different direction the last chapter took at the end._

_This chapter is actually the first half of what was to be one long chapter, but it got a little too long for my liking. On the bright side, the next one is partially written, so the next update shouldn't be too many days away – and it's up already at OWL, anyway!_


	23. Two Words

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 23**

Potions on Wednesday afternoon was a strange affair. Hermione tried not to act any differently towards Malfoy than she had before, but she was finding it hard to treat him with indifference when she had to sit next to the Slytherin and work with him.

For his part, the Head Boy was civil to her, but not overtly so. Unlike when he'd gestured for her to precede him into the classroom on Monday, Hermione could detect no insincerity in the way he spoke to her, making her wonder if Snape's suspicions were, indeed, true.

She caught Snape watching them a few times throughout the lesson, a contemplative look in his face.

By the end of Potions on Friday, she couldn't deny Malfoy was a dab hand at the art, and an excellent lab partner, too. His ingredient preparation was as precise as her own, and while their potion base was simmering for the required half hour, they worked out a schedule of brewing and charming which would give them both an opportunity to try the new skill.

Hermione hung back at the end of the lesson, planning to accompany Snape to his lab, but Malfoy also seemed to be taking a long time to pack away his parchments and quills, and was watching her out the corner of his eye.

She frowned and left the classroom without acknowledging Snape. Slowing her steps once out in the corridor, she sensed Malfoy a short distance behind her. When she reached the junction of the corridor that lead to Snape's quarters and the stairs to the upper levels of the castle, she chose the stairs. It seemed to throw Malfoy as she had hoped, because even though she waited for some time in the Entrance Hall, he didn't appear.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she made her way quickly to the first floor and let herself into the passage to his rooms. He was already sitting at his desk, marking papers with a scowl on his face, when she arrived. A small hourglass sitting next to the pile of essays was presumably for the steaming cauldron she could see through the open door to the lab.

"I thought you weren't coming tonight," he said, not looking up.

"Malfoy seemed rather interested in why I was hanging back after the lesson," she explained, sitting down opposite him at the desk. "I went upstairs to try to confuse him, which obviously I did, because he didn't follow once I left the dungeons.

"Hmm," Snape said, scratching a large 'A' on the essay in front of him and picking up the next one from the pile.

Hermione quietly retrieved a shrunk package from within her book bag, enlarged it, and sat it on the desk between them.

He glanced at the silver-grey parcel, and then up at her.

"What's this?"

"Happy Birthday, Severus," she said softly.

He looked surprised, then pleased, then... almost regretful.

"It's not much," she said quickly, trying to forestall any attempt to refuse it. She had spent some time deliberating what to give him since she'd found out the date of his birthday just after Christmas. She didn't want to embarrass him, or presume to gift him with anything too personal, but at the same time she wanted her gift to mean _something_.

"You didn't have to..." he began. "I didn't expect-"

"I wanted to," she said firmly.

He set down his quill and stared at the package for a long moment before reaching for it.

Hermione bit her lip and watched his long fingers unwrapping the box which, when revealed, was plain, glossy black except for gold embossed writing on the front.

"Ogden's Old Firewhisky," he read aloud, his mouth curving into an appreciative smile at the irony of her gift.

"Much better than that cheap imitation stuff," she said, returning the smile. It had been an even chance whether he would be offended or amused by the gift, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief that it was the latter.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, tracing the writing on the box thoughtfully with one finger. "I'm sure I'll make use of it in the near future."

Her smile dropped a little, but he waved the comment off with a short, forced laugh, set the bottle aside carefully, and picked up his quill again.

She took that as her cue to leave him to his work, and went into the lab to make the next monthly batch of potions for the Hospital Wing. She'd met with Madam Pomfrey earlier in the week to take inventory of the stocks. Quite a few things needed replenishing, for which she was thankful, as it gave her something to concentrate on the following evening, Saturday.

When she arrived shortly after dinner, Snape was pacing the lab again as he had the previous week; four flasks of the potion, instead of two, were lined up on the workbench.

She went straight to work on her own potions, trying to block out the soft thud of Snape's boots as he crossed the room, swung around, and walked back the way he had come in a ceaseless circle of steps. She knew by now that 'mindless chatter', as he was apt to call it, didn't help alleviate the trepidation of what was to come, and Snape preferred to be left to his own quiet thoughts, whatever they may be.

Just after seven he strode from the room, flexing his left hand in obvious discomfort, and returned moments later with his cloak. Hermione left her cauldron as he shrank the flasks into phials again, and as he tucked them into his pocket, she came up next to him, murmuring, "Be careful".

He turned to her and nodded briefly, apprehension and resolve in his dark eyes.

Then he was gone, and she turned back to her cauldron, infinitely glad to have something to occupy her mind.

Two and a half hours later, three different potions sat cooled and bottled on the workbench. Hermione didn't want to start something else, since she was sure Snape would be returning any time now, so she made sure the lab was spotlessly clean and withdrew to the sitting room to await his arrival.

After sitting idly in one of the armchairs for ten minutes, she stood up and went to the vast bookshelf for something to read. Her eyes drifted to the Muggle fiction shelf, and she perused the titles, selecting with some difficulty a small, very old, leather-bound version of _The Canterbury Tales_.

She made it through the prologue before she glanced at the clock, realising again how long Snape had been gone compared to last week; it had been over three hours.

_He could be back, talking with the Headmaster_, she thought, and for a moment considered Flooing Professor Dumbledore to check. She dismissed that thought, though. If Snape was there, the two teachers would most likely not be pleased with the interruption, and if he wasn't... it would only increase her worry.

Settling more comfortably in the chair and tucking her legs up beneath her, she continued on to the next part of the book, _The Knight's Tale_. Hermione found herself drawn into the story, and she lost track of time, as she was apt to do when reading a new book.

Even the soft chiming of the clock on the mantle didn't distract her until, near the end of the tale, she leant back to stretch and her gaze fell on the clock once more.

_Half-past twelve!_ She jumped up from her seat and crossed to the workroom door, opening it and peering in to reassure herself he hadn't returned by the other passage and gone straight to brewing. It was empty and cold.

She replaced _The Canterbury Tales_ on the shelf and began pacing in front of the fire, shivering despite its warmth. Surely he should be back by now?

And if he'd returned but been held up by Dumbledore, surely he would have thought to Floo her, if only to dismiss her for the night. He knew she wouldn't go back to Gryffindor Tower until he returned.

Half an hour later, she was pacing a full circle around the room, telling herself with each pass of the fireplace that on the next one, she would Floo the Headmaster.

Her resolve was almost set when the flames turned green, and the Potions master stepped from the fireplace, pulling off his cloak as soon as he exited the hearth.

Hermione crossed the room in three strides and, before Snape could protest, pulled him into a relieved hug. She felt his surprise in the momentary stiffening of his shoulders, but then he relaxed and wrapped his own arms around her with a soft sigh, his fingers unintentionally tangling in the haphazard curls hanging down her back.

It was only when Snape made a quiet enquiry over the top of her head that she realised she was shaking.

"You were gone so long," she whispered, turning her head to one side so her words weren't muffled in his frock coat. "I thought something had happened."

"I'm fine," he said. "You shouldn't have worried. I've been gone much longer than this before."

"I know, but not last week. You were back so quickly, then, and I thought this week would be the same."

Snape didn't answer, but tightened his embrace a little, one hand coming up to rest on the back of her head. Her right ear was pressed against his chest, and she could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, through the layers of clothing. It soothed her, and she drew a shaky breath, trying to calm her own racing heart.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked after some time, his hand moving back and forth over her hair in the lightest caress. She nodded as best she could, and drew back, a little uncomfortable at the concerned look he was giving her.

"Really, I'm okay," she said. "I shouldn't have worried; I was just being silly. I'm sorry."

"I thought we'd agreed you were going to stop apologising all the time," he said sternly, though there was a faint glimmer of something in his eyes; not amusement... appreciation, perhaps.

"Besides," he continued, "your concern, misplaced as it was tonight, is welcome nonetheless."

She smiled a little, and he picked up his cloak again, withdrawing four empty phials from within its folds.

"Are they the ones you took tonight, full?" she asked, following him into the lab.

He nodded, his back turned as he set them on the workbench and cast the charm to return them to their original-sized flasks.

It dawned on her then why he'd been gone much longer.

"You helped to distribute it tonight, didn't you?"

"Yes," Snape said, sitting at the cluttered desk and rummaging through the piles of notes for something. "A fact of which I am considerably thankful for, as it has allowed me to give fair warning to those who have been targeted."

Hermione sat on the stool at the end of the nearest bench, deep in thought, while Snape found the parchment he was searching for.

When he turned to face her, she said, "Won't he suspect you?"

Snape shook his head and leant back in his chair, preparing for a long explanation.

"There were twelve of us working together tonight; he will suspect all of us, but be reluctant to take any serious action against anyone without a further, shall we say, individual test of loyalty."

"Who was targeted?" she asked. "Aurors? The Order?"

Snape shook his head. "No, I was wrong in the assumption he would continue such small-scale attacks with such a mass weapon. Tonight, we added the potion to the water supply at the Ministry of Magic."

Hermione stared at his calm face him with a horrified expression, imagining the hundreds upon hundreds of wizards and witches working in the Ministry. Even with the potion diluted in the water, it would still be potent enough to seriously harm people, depending on how much they consumed. There were drinking fountains all over the Ministry building, fed magically through the pipes from the water supply, not to mention the cafeteria and the thousands of cups of tea and coffee consumed every day. It would be a disaster of catastrophic proportions. Half the Ministry would be in St Mungo's before they realised what was happening.

"Thank God you were included in this, or they'd have had no warning," she said quietly. "Can they cleanse the water or clear the system?"

Snape shook his head again. "I don't know what they plan to do. Dumbledore is aware of the contamination, and has contacted the appropriate Ministry officials to handle it. I've made them aware the potion is only viable for a week, so the worst that can happen is they'll have to shut down the system for that length of time."

"He's not going for subtlety anymore with these attacks, is he?" she commented.

Snape was reading the parchment in his hands, but he answered, "It's my understanding that he wants things to come to a head sooner rather than later. He has realised the longer he leaves it to rid himself of Potter – or so he thinks – the harder it will be. These large scale attacks seem to be aimed at drastically reducing the number of capable wizards and witches who would be fighting against him in the shortest possible space of time."

"What will he do when the attacks fail, then?" Hermione asked.

"_This_ one has failed, Hermione," the Potions master reminded her. "That's not to say any future ones will. It may have merely been a stroke of luck that I was privy to the details tonight; it may not happen again."

He turned back to the desk, and picked up a quill, scribbling quickly at the bottom of the parchment. She ventured forwards and peered over his shoulder, trying to interpret the long, complicated Arithmantic equation he was writing.

"What's that?" she started to ask, but he hushed her with an abrupt, "Shh," and continued to write, grabbing another piece of parchment and starting the equation again, slightly different from the last one.

When he'd filled half the page, and crossed out much of what he'd written in between, he sat back, studying the final equation with narrowed eyes.

Hermione's head was spinning just from trying to decipher the first line. It seemed to be a formula relating to the opening wand movement of an incantation, but it was too intricate to comprehend, even with her NEWT-level knowledge of the subject.

"I think it might work," Snape said slowly, crossing out one figure and replacing it with another.

"What is it?" she asked again.

"If it works," he said cautiously, "it is the Arithmantic formula for an incantation to charm Cruciatus antidote into a preventative potion."

She stared at the formula, and then at Snape, who was frowning, his lips moving slightly as he checked the formula once more.

"That's _brilliant_," she breathed.

"It hasn't worked yet," he warned her. "Some things that seem theoretically sound are a complete disaster in practice."

"Well," she said frankly, "that formula makes absolutely no sense to me theoretically, but it's still brilliant."

He smirked at her. "Arithmantic incantations are extremely complex. I don't think Professor Vector even touches on them in her NEWT class." Hermione shook her head. "You'd likely have to be studying for a Masters in the subject before you attempted creating your own formulas."

"You have a Masters in Arithmancy _and_ Potions?" she concluded incredulously.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Actually, no. But the Master of Potions I apprenticed under did have, and he taught me a lot of Arithmantic theory in relation to Potions."

'Useful," she commented, and he nodded in agreement. "Are you going to test it on the antidote, then?"

"The incantations must be carried out during the actual brewing," he explained, "in much the same way as the potion you're working on in class at the moment. We will begin a new batch of the brew during the week, time permitting. I still have the actual potion to make in time for next Saturday."

"Let's hope you can find out what he plans to do with that, too," Hermione sighed.

* * *

Tuesday morning, the _Daily Prophet_ carried a front-page story of a mysterious contamination of the water supply at the Ministry of Magic. Sources at the newspaper said Ministry officials had not revealed the cause of the contamination, though they had assured their employees and the wizarding community that the supply would be restored within the week. 

From Harry's expression as he read the article over Hermione's shoulder, it was obvious he knew more than what the paper was saying. As with all of their conversations, she hadn't mentioned anything Snape had told her to either of her friends, but in a quiet moment before first lesson on Tuesday, she and Harry filled Ron in on what they knew.

Dumbledore had spoken of the attempted attack to Harry, including Snape's role in preventing it, and Hermione had been pleased to see her friend nod to the Potions master as they entered the classroom on Wednesday. Snape raised an eyebrow, but returned the gesture, and then graced Hermione with a questioning look. She shook her head and mouthed, 'Dumbledore', just as Malfoy sat down next to her.

They had finished brewing the base of the Indicii Memoria, and were working on adding the first ingredients with matching incantations. Despite her misgivings, Hermione found herself working quite well with Malfoy. Although they seldom strayed from talking about the task at hand, they both managed to refrain from sarcastic retorts.

Worryingly, she caught Malfoy watching her a number of times at meals in the Great Hall, and watching Snape, too, on the rare occasion the Potions master actually put in an appearance. The Slytherin also made a point of being one of the last to leave the Potions classroom at the end of each lesson, preventing Hermione from speaking to the Potions master. She was sure Malfoy was doing it deliberately, having sensed something amiss between the teacher and student, and she found herself being extra careful when using the hidden passageway into Snape's quarters.

* * *

The week passed in a flurry of lessons, assignments, brewing and a nail-biting Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin in which Harry narrowly caught the Snitch ahead of Malfoy. 

Hermione left the celebrations in the Gryffindor common room on Saturday evening to go to Snape's lab. There was no real need for her to be there as far as brewing went. The potion stocks for the Hospital Wing were up to date again, and she'd just finished a cauldron-full of the original antidote. Snape hadn't yet had time to test the incantation he'd created for the preventative brew.

Saturday nights with Snape had become something of a habit, though, and aside from her own uneasiness at not knowing whether he was safe or not, she knew he had come to take some unspoken measure of comfort in her presence each time he returned from Voldemort.

He wasn't pacing this time, for which she was thankful, but she stopped when he scowled darkly at her presence in the doorway.

"What?"

"If you've just come to gloat, you can turn around and go back the way you came," he said darkly from where he was sitting at the cramped desk in the lab.

She frowned in confusion, but then looked down and realised she still had her Gryffindor scarf draped around her neck.

"Sorry," she muttered, pulling it off and shoving it on a stool under one of the benches. "We were celebrating."

"No doubt," he sighed. "You might as well join them again. Everything seems to be in order here. There's no use making more antidote until I can attempt the charmed one."

"I'm up-to-date with the potions for Madam Pomfrey, too," she said, "but I thought I'd just come down and... I don't know... see if you needed anything."

"Some of that Firewhisky, maybe," he said with a grimace. "I'm not looking forward to the Dark Lord's reaction to the failure of the last mission."

"But you said he wouldn't-"

"No, I don't think he'll start throwing curses," Snape said quickly. "But he will be suspicious of everyone, and may decide to test us."

Before Hermione could ask what he meant by that, he hissed and clenched his left hand into a fist.

She stood silently as he gathered his cloak and the phials of potion, and then followed him into the sitting room.

"Go back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione," he said, taking a pinch of Floo from the jar on the mantle.

"But-" she began.

"There's nothing for you to do here," he pressed. "There's no point in you sitting here for hours. Go back to your friends, or your schoolwork, and I'll see you tomorrow."

She bit her lip, reluctant to leave, and to have to wait until the morning to see how he fared.

"Get some rest, Hermione," he said, and at her doubtful glance, offered, "Come back as early as you like in the morning. I'll be here."

At that concession she finally nodded, and he stepped into the fireplace.

She took a breath and opened her mouth to wish him luck, but he was already gone.

* * *

By the time the Quidditch celebrations were over in the Gryffindor common room it was just after midnight. Hermione retreated to her bedroom, but found herself unable to sleep, worry for Snape sitting like a dead weight in the pit of her stomach. Just after one, she found herself still wide awake, peering out the window at the darkened grounds below, hoping to see a glance of the elusive figure moving through the shadows upon his return. 

Half an hour later, she decided she had to know what had happened. She knew if Snape had returned he wouldn't be sleeping, not if Voldemort had requested the potion again for next week. He would be angry at her, perhaps, but he _had_ said she could return in the morning... and it technically _was_ morning.

The castle was cold and quiet as she made her way out past a very grumpy Fat Lady and downstairs to the first floor. She shivered, glad she'd thought to pull her jacket, gloves and scarf – not her Gryffindor one, though - on over her jumper. She made it to the first floor door without encountering even Mrs Norris or one of the ghosts, and slipped through into the passage that led to Snape's quarters.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the velvety cloak discarded over the back of an armchair, but her mood dropped somewhat when she also noticed the new bottle of Firewhisky she'd given him, now open. It didn't look like much had been consumed, but it must have been a hard night for him to have had a drink at all, she surmised.

As she shrugged off her jacket, gloves and scarf, noises from the lab reached her ears, and she remembered she'd been meaning to speak with Snape about the strange sounds she'd been hearing. These sounds were different, though, and as she opened the door the _tap, tap, tap_ of a knife on the wooden bench top became clearer.

Snape glanced up as she entered the room, closing the door behind her, and she had to stop herself from taking a step backwards. The look on his face was... there was no other word for it but murderous. He looked absolutely furious, and he was slashing the roots of the plant on the bench with none of his usual precision. Where his strokes of the knife were normally quick but accurate, he was now taking vicious swipes at the roots, and sweeping them into an accumulating pile before grabbing another chunk from the jar to repeat the process.

When he'd finished, he scooped them up and spun around, throwing them into the cauldron behind him. Turning back to the bench, he took the next jar he had lined up, filled with pickled tube-worms, and scooped out a handful of the slimy ingredients. Hermione watched with a mixture of fear and concern as he began his brutal assault with the knife again. The preserving liquid still clinging to the tube-worms was making it difficult, and he pulled his hand away with a hiss as the knife slipped, cutting his finger. Blood dripped onto the ingredients, rendering them useless, and he grabbed his wand, banished them, and snarled a hasty charm to close the wound.

When he took another handful of the worms and began again, Hermione started across the room towards him to put a stop to it. She was at the end of the bench when the knife slipped again, and he slammed it hard into the top of the bench. An instant later, a sweep of his arm cleared the bench of everything; jars and phials shattered as they hit the stone floor.

Hermione uttered a squeak of surprise and fear at the violent outburst, and instinctively stepped back in case he turned on her next.

He didn't though; instead he sank onto a nearby stool and bowed his head, breathing heavily. He brought his hands up to clasp the back of his neck, oblivious of the rivulets of blood running down into the sleeve of his black shirt from the second cut on his left hand.

Hermione stood, indecisive, wondering what could possibly have put him so on edge. He didn't seem to be hurt aside from his hand, so Voldemort obviously hadn't called his loyalties into question.

She took a hesitant step towards him again, hating herself for being afraid, but she'd never seen his temper so volatile. Certainly, every student in the school knew his mood could become explosive very quickly, but she'd never seen him physically violent before, even if his anger seemed to be directed mostly at himself.

When she reached his side, she said his name softly so as not to startle him and reached for the bloodied hand. He let her draw it down from behind his head to rest on the workbench, and stared at the movement of her wand as she healed the cut and cleaned the blood away with a quick series of charms.

She left him sitting there, and moved around to the end of the bench to the mess of ruined ingredients on the floor. Hermione was aware of him watching her as she quickly and calmly _Evanesco_ed everything but the shattered glass, and then cast, "_Reparo."_

She crossed the room with the clean jars and phials, and placed them in the cabinet with the other empty ones, then turned back to Snape. He seemed to have calmed down slightly, though he still hadn't moved from the stool. She pulled another one up close and sat facing him, her knees almost touching his thigh.

"I apologise," he said after a few minutes of silence. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's okay," she replied softly.

"No, it's not okay," he said. "I've just ruined galleons worth of ingredients; allowing them to mix like that could have been disastrous, not to mention I could have hurt you if you'd been standing any closer."

"Do want to talk about it?" she said after a moment.

"No." Snape shook his head.

"Something has obviously happened to upset you," she pressed. "It might help, and you know you can trust me."

"It's not about trust, Hermione," he snapped, rubbing his eyes tiredly with one hand. "Dumbledore has forbidden me to speak of it to anyone."

She frowned. "Surely he wouldn't mind-"

"And _specifically_ not to speak of it to you," he said, getting up suddenly and leaving the room.

She stared after him, confused, and made to follow. As she left the lab, she heard rustling in the corner again, but was too preoccupied to turn and see the source of the noise crossing the floor.

Snape was pouring another glass of Firewhisky as she closed the lab door behind her, but he didn't sit down, choosing instead to stand in front of the fireplace and rest his glass on the mantle.

Hermione stood a short distance away, watching him until he finally glanced in her direction and grimaced.

"I suppose I'll have to tell you something now, won't I?"

She nodded and sat on the armrest of the couch. "I swear I won't tell anyone."

"I know _that_," he scorned. "Dumbledore doesn't want you to... how did he put it? _Share the burden of knowledge_ of what is going to happen."

"Okay," she said slowly.

He took a long drink from his glass and refilled it before he began speaking again.

"You know, last weekend, that I was able to bring warning of the attack on the Ministry because there were enough Death Eaters involved in the mission to avert suspicion from myself?"

She nodded silently.

"You also know that I predicted the Dark Lord may _test_ us individually in the future to try to discover who was sabotaging the mission. As ill luck would have it, he decided to test me first."

Hermione gasped softly, thinking of the Pensieve scene Dumbledore had shown her, when Snape had been required to demonstrate his loyalty before Voldemort once before. The Potions master read the horrified look on her face correctly and chuckled bitterly.

"No, it's nothing like what you're thinking, Hermione," he said, pushing his lank hair back from his face. "When I delivered the potion tonight, the Dark Lord instructed me to distribute it at a certain location. No one else knows of it, so if the attack is foiled in any way, he'll know I've betrayed him."

Hermione nodded slowly, trying to absorb the unpleasant news. It was ridiculous to think there _wouldn't_ be casualties sooner or later, and that Snape would be privy to and able to stop all Voldemort's attempts to distribute the potion.

She said as much, and he scowled.

"You sound just like the Headmaster. Neither of you have any idea of what this means."

She frowned, and said, "It means people will die, Severus, but you have to consider the people you'll be saving in the long run."

"Oh, yes," he sneered, taking another sip of Firewhisky. "What was the term Albus used? Regrettable casualties? Should that make it easier to bear their deaths on my conscience, Hermione?"

"No, but it's not-"

"Then spare me the empty reassurances!" he exploded, his dark eyes flashing as he turned from the fireplace and strode angrily across the room to stand in front of the bookshelves instead. "I've already heard them once tonight and they mean _nothing_. If the Dark Lord is testing me, doesn't that mean he'll test all the other Death Eaters present last weekend? That's twelve of us – eleven other attacks of which I will be able to bring _no warning_, because only the Dark Lord and the one carrying out that night's task will be aware of it."

She inhaled a breath sharply, not having considered it from that point of view.

"People are going to die, Hermione," he continued. "Innocent people. Muggles. _Children_. And there isn't a thing I can do to stop it without being exposed."

"That's not an option," she said.

"Oh, believe me," he sighed. "Exposure is a very attractive option at this moment. I can see only ruin in my continued duplicity."

Hermione jumped up from her place on the armrest of the couch and moved across the room, too, standing next him. She took the almost-empty glass from his hands and set it carefully on a space between two bookends, grasping his hands in her own instead.

"No," she implored. "We need you. If you're discovered, who will be able to warn us in the future?"

He snorted. "If I'm exposed, Hermione, there'll be no need for warnings. The Dark Lord won't have the potion anymore, will he?"

"The potion isn't the only weapon he possesses," she reasoned desperately. "Yes, it's terrible that innocent people have to die, but the Headmaster is right. The Order can't afford for you to lose your position in his ranks."

He nodded, turning his back to the bookshelf and leaning his head back against it for a moment. "I know. I'm just… I hate this, Hermione," he confessed in a low voice. "I just don't see the point in what I'm doing anymore."

"The point? It's-" she started to say.

"Oh, I know," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Helping the Order, gathering information, protecting Potter so he can finally be rid of the Dark Lord, and all that. I just don't see how the Order is better off with my contributions lately than they would be without. We're fighting a war for freedom, but it seems I'm taking more lives than I'm saving."

Hermione watched the despair cross his face and a sense of complete helplessness threatened to overwhelm her. She'd heard Snape complain before, about Dumbledore's latest plan, or a decision the Order made in regards to his activities, but never had she heard him sound so bleak, so hopeless.

Normally, any setback only increased his determination to see the end of Voldemort, but now... he seemed not to care anymore.

She found herself unable to conjure any adequate words of comfort, and instead settled for grasping his hands more firmly, imploring him to meet her gaze.

When he did, she was distressed to see the dullness in his eyes, which were normally so expressive. They were tired and resigned, the eyes of a man sick of giving to the world and receiving nothing in return. He looked ready to give up... on his work, on the war... on _himself_.

It frightened her.

But along with that fear came a strange ache in her chest, and she realised, in a moment of sudden clarity, something she'd been trying not to acknowledge for weeks.

She loved him.

It wasn't some silly schoolgirl crush, as she'd told her mother at Christmas. Crushes were borne of admiration for a figure who was seen but not really known; the image of a person rather than the reality.

She knew Severus Snape now. Perhaps better than anyone else, save for the Headmaster. And the more she discovered of the man behind the stoic Potions master façade, the more she liked him. Who ever would have guessed the heartless teacher of her earlier years could have such integrity, compassion and determination?

She loved the man she'd finally discovered behind that cold exterior, and the despair she felt at seeing him so distressed made her determined to do whatever she could to ease some of his burden.

"Let me help you," she said softly, her eyes not leaving his own. "Tell me what I can do to help you."

"There's nothing you can do," he sighed, turning away and pulling one hand from hers to reach for his glass again. He emptied it in a single gulp, replaced it on the shelf, and added resignedly, "Dumbledore has made his decision, and I'll do as he asks, as I have always done, regardless of the consequences."

"Severus," she said softly, and when he turned to face her again, she moved her hands to his shoulders.

"I want to help you," she said earnestly. "There must be something I can do to help. Anything. Tell me what you want me to do."

He didn't answer, but held her gaze intently for what seemed like an age to Hermione. She realised how close they were, and her heart started beating just a little bit faster.

She hardly dared to blink as the fathomless depths of his dark eyes seemed to draw her in, and she could feel the soft caress of his breath on her forehead.

Had she leaned forwards, or had Snape moved closer of his own accord?

The only sound in the room was the crackle of the flames in the fireplace, and a slight hitch in her breathing as she realised – no, _hoped_ – she knew what was about to happen.

Everything around her seemed to be happening in slow motion.

They were close... so close... too close for it to mean anything else.

Her gaze drifted from Snape's eyes to his mouth, and she found herself unconsciously wetting her lips. When she met his eyes again, she could see the reflection of the fire across the room burning in their depths.

Hermione's hands were still on his shoulders, and now she felt his own hands come around her back, pulling her closer still.

She closed her eyes, and a moment later felt his thin, warm lips gently brushing her own... once, twice, three times, in a frustratingly chaste kiss. Sighing softly, she moved one hand up his shoulder and into the soft strands of hair at the base of his neck.

He tightened his hold around her back in response, and pressed his lips to hers again, a little harder this time. She could taste the sharp tang of the Firewhisky on his mouth, warm and bitter, and instinctively darted her tongue forwards to taste it.

The moment her tongue touched his lips, though, he drew back as though burned, her fingers tearing through a tangle in his hair as he pushed himself away from her.

She stared at him, confused, her breath coming in short gasps, her lips still tingling with sensation. She made to reach her hand out to him, but Snape moved again, backing clean across the room to the hearth, a mortified expression on his face.

"What have I done?" she heard him whisper as he faced the mantle, one hand pressed across his mouth.

She stared at his back, and the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders as he tried to calm his own breathing.

She took a single step towards him, but one word halted her movement.

"Don't."

He didn't turn around.

"Don't what?" Her voice came out shaky and uncertain, and he looked around at her, something akin to fear in his eyes.

"Don't come any closer." He was clearly struggling with himself, because his own voice was hoarse and unsteady.

"Why?" she asked softly, taking another step closer.

"Dammit, Hermione!" he said desperately, holding out a hand in a vain attempt to stop any further advance. "Because I shouldn't have done that, but I'm tired and my self-control is in tatters, and..." his voice broke as he finished, "if you come any closer I don't think I can stop myself from doing it again."

She took another step and his eyes closed, his arm still extended in a feeble protest.

"Who says I would object if you did?"

Surprise flitted across his face as his eyes flew open, dark with desire, but not without that same hint of fear. Hermione noticed his bottom lip was just slightly swollen, and was suddenly overcome with the urge to feel those lips on hers again.

She crossed the space between them in measured, even steps, though her heart was pounding fit to burst. She was almost close enough to touch his face, only to be stopped by a firm hand on each of her shoulders.

When she looked up into his eyes again, there was none of the earlier fire, but only a stony resolve.

"No," he said firmly. "Hermione, we cannot. We _must_ not."

"Why?" she said again, and before he had a chance to respond, added, "Don't try to tell me you don't want this, after what you just did."

"I shouldn't have done it," he replied. "It was an inexcusable moment of weakness, and one that I hope you can forgive me for."

"What, a moment of weakness where you just reached out to whomever happened to be near and willing at the time?" she said, stricken at the thought she'd misinterpreted his actions so grossly.

"No!" he exclaimed.

"It was convenient, is that it?" Her voice was becoming shriller with each accusation, and she was fighting a losing battle to hold back the tears she could feel building behind her eyes. If he pushed her away now...

"You believe I think so little of you?" he asked incredulously.

"Honestly, Severus, I don't know what you think of me," she said, stepping back so that his hands fell from her shoulders. "I don't even know what I think of you, anymore."

It was her turn to put distance between them as she crossed the room to the large window. It was snowing again, and the darkness outside was absolute, broken only by the icy particles gathering at the edges of the windowpanes.

There was silence for a long time, and Hermione could see Snape's reflection in the window, lit by the flickering flames of the fire. He was standing in the same place she'd left him, but he'd turned to face the wall, both elbows resting on the mantle, his head in his hands.

Finally, the Potions master broke the silence.

"I think," he said slowly, "as tired as we both undoubtedly are, there's no sense putting off the rest of this conversation until the light of day."

"Is there even anything left to say?" she asked bitterly, looking from his reflection to the real figure. He, too, turned to face her, and though his face was thrown into shadow, she could still see his eyes glittering.

"There is."

The two words hung in the air between them, and Hermione suddenly felt a glimmer of hope.

He gestured for her to return to the fireside and she complied, sitting on the edge of one of the armchairs. Snape didn't sit, instead choosing to pace across the hearth, his arms folded.

"I make no excuses for what I did," he began, an edge of nervousness in his voice. "It was uncalled for, though apparently not entirely unwelcome."

He looked to her in askance and she blushed a little, nodding.

"However," he continued, "regardless of whatever needs or desires might have been fulfilled by my – _our_ – actions, it cannot happen again."

"I don't-" she began.

"No, Hermione, listen to me," he said firmly. "I am a teacher, _your_ teacher, and as such I am bound by a code of conduct which absolutely forbids any sort of... incident... like the one that occurred here tonight."

"But it's not like you took advantage of me," she protested. "I'm of age, in this world _and_ the Muggle one. Surely I can make up my own mind as to who I... I..."

"Age doesn't matter, Hermione," he sighed. "For as long as you are a student at this school, I hold a position of authority over you, and can be accused of exploiting it for my own personal gain."

"But you wouldn't-"

"_I_ know I wouldn't, but a third party would be unlikely to view the situation from my point of view. Wizards have gone to Azkaban for far less, Hermione."

Her stomach dropped. In her haste to convince him what had happened was entirely welcome, she hadn't thought of the consequences if anyone were to find out.

"No one has to know," she said quietly, pleadingly. "No one has any idea we've become friends these past months."

He looked down at her and sighed again, dropping onto one knee so that his face was level with her own.

"Even my being friends with you would be frowned up by most, Hermione. You know secrets are never safe for long in this place. Is this-" he gestured between them, "-really worth putting your schooling and my job in jeopardy for?"

She hesitated and he shook his head.

"We're friends, but as for anything... more... it cannot happen," he repeated firmly. "Not now."

"Not ever?" she asked, bowing her head for fear him seeing the hurt his inevitable answer would cause.

She felt a hand under her chin, though, gently tilting her head up until she met his gaze again. He seemed pensive... almost sad... and she felt tears prickling behind her eyes.

"Not yet," he said evenly.

She stared at him in astonishment and the corners of his mouth quirked up in a ghost of a smile.

"Not yet," he said again, brushing the pad of his thumb lightly across her bottom lip as he withdrew his hand and stood up.

She stayed seated for a moment, fearing her legs wouldn't hold her if she tried to stand. A relieved, joyous smile broke out across her face, and she only realised Snape was still watching her when she heard him chuckle lightly.

"Not yet," she echoed, wondering how long it would be before her resolve, or his, crumbled.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Notes:_

_Thank you, as always, to everyone who has read and reviewed. I feel I have to apologise because I told quite a few people we would learn the identity of the spy this chapter. Again, more happened than I anticipated (did it ever!) and not everything originally planned for this chapter made it through. We will, without fail, see the spy next chapter. I swear it on... Snape's life. :P_

_To forestall the inevitable questions about Potions master versus Master, here's my rather confusing attempt at an explanation:_

_Snape has the title of Potions master in relation to his teaching position at Hogwarts. In this story, however, he is also a Master of Potions, having earnt this title through further study as an apprentice to another Master after leaving school. The correct way to refer to someone with such qualifications is not Potions Master, but rather Master Snape. Although he would be well within his rights to except to be addressed so at Hogwarts, he has elected not to flaunt his qualifications to the students, who are largely unappreciative of his mastery anyway, preferring the generic teacher addresses of Potions master and Professor. Confused:P_

_ As always, the next chapter is posted at OWL. See my profile for the link!  
_


	24. Checkmate

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_Author's Note: I promised you'd find out a certain piece of information in this chapter, and so you shall... Also, you all know I like cliffhangers, don't you? Consider yourself forewarned._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 24**

Very early Sunday morning, even before the sun had made an appearance in the clear, cold sky, Severus Snape found himself in the Headmaster's office once again.

He was still terribly angry with the old man for allowing the latest attack to proceed unhindered, but, as much as he hated to admit it, Snape understood Dumbledore's reasoning.

The success of the attack would prove his loyalty to Voldemort once and for all, in the Dark Lord's eyes, and since Snape was the supplier of the potion to be used in any further attacks, chances were that he would be included in their plans. Not only would this give him the opportunity to prevent further deaths, but also, in purposely sabotaging the missions, he could turn the Dark Lord's suspicions onto other Death Eaters.

"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster said, appearing from a side door to the office, dressed in a ridiculous, blue dressing gown covered in yellow stars. "To what do I owe the pleasure of such an early visit?"

"There is something we need to discuss, Headmaster," Snape said stiffly, folding his arms across his chest.

"I do hope you haven't changed your mind about our agreement, Severus," the older man said, frowning slightly as he sat in an armchair by the fire and gestured Snape into the other chair. "You do realise it is for-"

"Yes, yes," the Potions master said impatiently, waving away the invitation to sit and pacing in front of the fire. "Don't worry, old man. You were right about that, as usual. I'm here about something else that has happened."

Dumbledore looked up sharply. "Something you neglected to inform me of last night?"

"No, something that has happened since then."

Dumbledore looked vaguely confused. "Have you been in contact with Tom again since-"

"Does everything I speak of to you have to be about the Dark Lord, Headmaster?" Snape cut in irritably.

In truth, Snape thought it would be far easier talking about Voldemort than informing the Headmaster of his earlier indiscretion with Hermione. It had to be done, though. If the Headmaster were to find out another way – and the old man had a knack for knowing everything that went on in the castle, given time – the results could be disastrous.

Dumbledore was leaning back in his chair, regarding Snape with a contemplative expression. At length, he said, "Of course not, forgive me. It's only that you have never seemed eager to discuss any other matters. You've never been one for idle chit-chat, Severus."

"This is hardly idle chit-chat, Albus," Snape said. "I fear I may have done something unforgivable."

The Headmaster stared at him over the rim of his half-moon glasses. "Sit down, my boy, before you fall down. You look even paler than usual. What is it you must tell me so urgently?"

He lowered himself into the armchair opposite Dumbledore and thought of how best to phrase what he was about to say. His throat suddenly felt very dry.

"I... I have... oh, dammit, Albus, I kissed Her- Miss Granger."

He leaned forwards to put his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, not wanting to see the disappointment in the Headmaster's eyes. The silence became stifling after some time, and he muttered, "Well, say something, old man. I didn't come here to confess to myself."

"Is that all?"

His head snapped up at the mild tone of the Headmaster's voice, and he found the older man watching him expectantly.

"Is that all?" he choked out. "Have you gone completely mad? I've just confessed to initiating an entirely inappropriate encounter with a student, and all you can say is, is that all?"

"I must say I am surprised, Severus," Dumbledore said, removing his glasses to polish them on a corner of his sleeve. "However, I am also relieved; I anticipated the reason for your presence here to be a much more serious one."

"More serious than a teacher kissing a student, Albus?" He felt lecherous just referring to what had happened in that way. Student was the last adjective he would have used to describe Hermione the previous night… before he'd come to his senses, anyway. Assistant, friend, companion... but not student. She'd long ceased to be that outside of class, in his eyes.

The Headmaster reached for a sherbet lemon on the coffee table between them, holding the bowl out to Snape, who scowled and glared at the old man. Dumbledore chuckled softly.

"So, tell me," he said at length. "What was Miss Granger's reaction?"

Snape stared at him incredulously.

"What in the name of Merlin does that to do with anything, Albus?" he snapped. "The school rules clearly forbid any such interaction between a teacher and a student in their care, and reprimands in the past have ranged from suspension to dismissal to Azkaban-"

"And when extenuating circumstances are present," Dumbledore interjected, "any reprimand is solely at the discretion of the Headmaster, based on his assessment of the situation."

"There are no extenuating circumstances, Albus," he said wearily.

"An existing friendship," the Headmaster offered quietly. "War. Both are sufficient justification for a momentary lapse of judgement, shall we say."

Snape stared at the Headmaster. "Are you telling me that-"

"Provided," Dumbledore continued, his voice suddenly firm, "that it does not occur again until you no longer hold a position of authority over Miss Granger, and she was in full acceptance of your actions at the time. So, I will ask you again, Severus, what was Miss Granger's reaction?"

Snape could feel the colour rising in his cheeks as he began, "She… when I… well, I suppose-"

"Oh, for pity's sake, Severus. Stop being such a prude. Did she or did she not kiss you back?"

"Yes!" Snape exclaimed loudly. "Yes, she kissed me back, until I came to my senses and pushed her away, and then she had the audacity to tell me she wouldn't object if I did it again."

He broke off, stood up and crossed to stand in front of the fire again, willing the colour to leave his face. If the truth was known, it wasn't only mortification at revealing such details to the Headmaster that was causing the reaction, but also the mere memory of the kiss, the remembrance of her lips on his, and the way her tongue had darted out hesitantly to taste him. He shook himself; inherently glad he had pulled away when he did... though a primal part of him was wishing he hadn't had the sense to do so.

"Well, Severus," the Headmaster said after some time. "It doesn't appear from your account that Miss Granger was at all unhappy with the situation. Quite the contrary, it seems."

Snape turned back to glare at the old man, who again had a suspiciously cheerful look about him.

"You shouldn't be so happy with the situation, Albus," he said. "How do you know I didn't force her, coerce her, slip her a potion? How do you know I'm not lying about her reaction?"

"Because I trust you, Severus," the Headmaster said simply. "As I trust Miss Granger."

Snape sat down again, shaking his head. "There is such a thing as being too trusting, you know, Albus."

Dumbledore seemed to ignore his statement, and said, "When I first asked Miss Granger to work with you, I must admit, I hoped you would realise there was more to her than just the persistent Gryffindor student you always saw. Dare I say, I hoped you might become friends, of sorts. You are, after all, very similar in your love of academia, if nothing else."

"Well, it seems you got your wish, Albus," Snape said snidely. "Friends... of sorts."

The Headmaster ignored Snape's tone, though, and merely chuckled. "I never imagined you would take to each other's company so well, or that your friendship would progress so quickly. Everyone needs somebody to confide in," he said seriously, "and I fear you have lost faith in me as that person, so I am glad that you have found someone else."

"Albus," Snape started to say. It was true; he had lost a little faith in the Headmaster as of late. Not as a leader or a mentor, but merely as a confidant. So often he found himself being manipulated as a result of his confessions, and the Headmaster's attempt at setting him up with Hermione – if only as friends – was yet another example of that.

"It's all right, Severus. I'll be the first to admit I twist things to my own ends, but I always have my reasons. Though, if I may say so, Miss Granger is a very determined young woman. I think she would have found her way into your life even without my gentle prodding."

The Potions master snorted. "Is that what you're calling it these days?"

He was relieved, though, that the Headmaster was so accepting of the situation. If Dumbledore had outlawed any interaction between he and his young assistant outside class, the next few months would have been even more unbearable than having her constantly near him was going to be.

* * *

Hermione slept late on Sunday morning, after returning to her room in the early hours. She was surprised she had slept at all, actually; her mind and heart had still been racing when she had crawled into bed, playing the earlier events over and over in her head.

She was sitting in the common room just before lunch, supposedly reading over her completed Charms essay, but actually staring at the parchment, her thoughts still on last night, when Harry and Ron plonked themselves down opposite her. Their faces were red and their hair windblown from the icy conditions in which they'd been practicing some new Quidditch tactics.

They must have said her name a few times before she answered, because when she blinked and look up, Harry was waving a hand in front of her eyes.

"What- oh, hi," she said sheepishly.

"Ah, you are awake," Ron laughed. "We thought you'd gone to sleep with your eyes open for a minute there."

"No," she said, rolling up her parchment. "Just thinking."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked. "You look a little flushed."

At that, Hermione felt her face grow even warmer, and muttered something about a fever.

That seemed to satisfy her friends, who nodded sympathetically, Ron adding, "I heard there's a nasty cold going around. Half of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team is sick... pity we're not playing them next weekend."

As Hermione followed her friends down to lunch, she found her thoughts again drifting to Snape. She was scheduled to be going down to his lab after lunch, as she had every Sunday for the past few months, although she was a little hesitant at the reception she would receive. They had parted slightly awkwardly in the early hours of the morning, and although she had every confidence that they would continue working together as they had before, she was foolish to think nothing would change. The mere memory of the kiss was enough to bring heat to her cheeks; how would she be able to work in the same room as him, stand next to him, and look at him, without a similar reaction giving her away?

Still, Hermione was nothing if not determined, so after lunch she parted with Harry and Ron and made her way to Snape's quarters. It was a little after one when she pushed open the lab door, and Snape looked up, surprised.

"You're early," he commented from where he was slicing something slimy on the workbench.

"Does that matter?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, it's good," he said, and she closed the door behind her, relieved. "I'm going to begin testing the charmed antidote this afternoon. You can help prepare the ingredients, if you wish."

She pulled up a stool and followed his directions of what to chop, crush or measure, until she heard a noise behind her.

Spinning around on her stool, she peered into the empty corner of the room but couldn't see anything. Even as she turned back to the table, though, she heard the noise again.

This time she hopped off her stool and lit her wand, inspecting the dank corner carefully.

"Did you hear that?" she said to Snape, who had stopped chopping to watch her curiously.

"What?"

"There's something in your lab that shouldn't be," she insisted. "I don't know what it is, but I keep hearing things rustling about whenever I'm here."

Snape frowned. "I haven't noticed anything."

"It always seems to happen when you're not here," she said, and he raised an eyebrow at her. "I know, it sounds silly, but it could be Doxies or spiders or... something worse I don't know about."

"I will have a look later," Snape assured her, and then smirked. "Though, if it turns out to be Doxies or spiders, I daresay they'll wish they hadn't chosen a potions lab to invade. My stores of both are rather depleted."

Hermione laughed and, with one last look at the corner of the room, went back to work.

They worked in silence for some time, then, and the light mood seemed to gradually evaporate from the room. Several times, it seemed as if Snape was about to speak, but then appeared to change his mind. She looked up at him and couldn't help but notice faint colour in his cheeks. He looked up, too, and caught her watching him, and she looked away again, confused. She was using a pestle and mortar to grind the Antipodean Opaleye dragon eggshells into a fine powder when Snape finally set down his knife and spoke.

"I informed the Headmaster of what happened earlier."

She dropped the pestle, which hit the side of the bowl with a loud clunk, and looked up at him, stunned.

"What did he say?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" he said, picking up his knife again. "As are you."

"He accepted it?" she said in disbelief, but the momentary hope was short-lived as Snape shook his head.

"He accepted that I did something stupid in a moment of weakness."

Something stupid? Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but, seeing her incensed look, he continued quickly, "Not the action, Hermione, the circumstance was stupid. It was a bad decision on my part, and if it happens again, the Headmaster had made it quite clear he will not so understanding."

"And yet, he's willing to let me work in here with you for hours on end, alone," she mused.

"He trusts both of us to respect his wishes," Snape said.

"Easier said than done," she muttered under her breath. She didn't know the Potions master's excellent hearing had caught her complaint until she realised he hadn't resumed chopping. She looked up to find him watching her, something in his eyes akin to the look they had held the previous night, just before he kissed her.

After a moment, he seemed to come back to himself, and the look disappeared. He simply nodded, and said, "Yes, it is."

He went back to work, and Hermione picked up her pestle again, her mind on his admission.

Both of them realised the attraction between them was entirely mutual, and that was perhaps easier to bear – for Hermione, anyway – than had she discovered her feelings for the Potions master were completely one-sided.

She was relieved, as they continued preparing the potion, that they could still work together and converse as they had before. There was a slight awkwardness on occasion; he flinched slightly when her fingers brushed his as she passed him a flask, but soon the work required all of their concentration, and any discomfort was forgotten in the complexity of the potion.

Hermione was adding ingredients under Snape's instructions, while the Potions master performed various charms and incantations on the ingredients, and on the cauldron itself. Even the stirring was done by a charm, as the addition of any foreign object such as a ladle would disturb the active charms in the mixture.

By the end of the required hour of stirring, after which the potion had to simmer untouched for another hour, Hermione had a true appreciation for the difficultly of charmed potions.

Snape all but collapsed into the rickety chair at the lab desk, wiping at the perspiration that had beaded on his forehead from the effort of maintaining multiple and complex charms for such a length of time.

Hermione cleared away the last of the mess from the ingredient preparation, and then came to stand near Snape where he'd leant back in the chair and closed his eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

"Mhmm," he murmured noncommittally, but didn't open his eyes.

She watched a rivulet of perspiration run down his temple and onto his cheek. Drawing her wand, she cast a quick cleansing charm, followed by a cooling charm, in his direction.

His cracked his eyes open as the spell washed over his face, and quirked a solitary eyebrow at her.

"Well," she said defensively. "I thought you would have had enough of charms for now."

He smirked and closed his eyes again, and Hermione watched his face thoughtfully. He actually did look quite relaxed, for a change, she noted, although perhaps it was just tiredness from making the potion.

There were less lines on his face, though; the deep frown line so often present between his brows had smoothed out, and his mouth was relaxed, instead of set in the thin, tight line Hermione had come to recognise as a measure of tension. They looked soft, pliable, almost the way they had felt when he...

She turned away abruptly and walked across the room under the pretence of collecting ingredients from the cupboard for the next stage of the brew.

Get a grip, Granger, she scolded herself, taking a deep, measured breath. You've got months of this to deal with before anything can happen… if anything will ever happen again. Don't start torturing yourself now.

She jumped a little as Snape came up beside her; she hadn't heard him move across the room. It took all her self-control to maintain a neutral expression on her face when, leaning past her to collect a jar from the highest shelf, his chest fleetingly brushed up against her shoulder.

She exhaled a rather unsteady breath as he took the jar back across the room to the cauldron, and gathered up her own ingredients to follow him.

Easier said than done might have been a gross understatement.

* * *

Dinner in the Great Hall on Monday saw another special publication of an _Evening Prophet_. The students, watching owls swoop towards the subscribers, realised by now that an evening newspaper was never published on account of good news.

If Hermione thought having some idea of what was coming would make it easier, she was wrong. The headlines read, 'You-Know-Who Targets Muggles', and a sub-heading beneath proclaimed, 'Fatal Poisoning at School Linked to Attempted Ministry Hit Last Week'.

A Muggle school. No wonder Snape had been so angry with Dumbledore, and so distressed at not being able to warn anyone. This wasn't a tactical hit as the attempted attack on the Ministry of Magic had been. This was Voldemort killing innocent people just because he could.

Hermione glanced up at the Head Table, but Snape's place was empty. Dumbledore was reading the article with a controlled expression on his face, while most of the other teachers were talking in low voices, shaking their heads and looking distinctly troubled.

"That's really low," Ron muttered, reading ahead of Hermione as she turned back to the article.

_'Thirty-two Muggle children have died and dozens are in hospital after the water supply at their school was found to be contaminated with an as-yet unidentified substance. Muggle Liaison officers from the Ministry of Magic were dispatched to the school in Brighton after unconfirmed reports of children displaying Cruciatus-like symptoms. Upon further investigation, it was revealed the school's water supply had been tainted with the same poison that was discovered in the water at the Ministry offices in London, last week. An anonymous owl notified Ministry officials of the contamination last week and the supply was shut down without any casualties. The Muggle children today, however, were not so fortunate. Confused teachers were seen administering the tainted water to already-inflicted children, not realising their error until it was too late. An Auror spokeswizard said the Ministry is at a loss to explain why the Muggle school was targeted. No Muggle-born witches or wizards have ever attended the school, and a Daily Prophet source believes You-Know-Who has reverted to senseless, Muggle mass-killings - something not seen since before his first fall from power.'_

_'The Minister for Magic is currently meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister, and an operation is being planned to transfer the most serious cases to St Mungo's. Ministry officials refused to comment on how this event will affect the International Statute of Secrecy, but activists from the controversial Wizard-Muggle Harmony group are already protesting against talk of a mass Obliviation.'_

Hermione shivered as she finished reading the article, though it was far from cold in the magically-warmed Great Hall. Senseless didn't even begin to describe the deaths of countless innocent children. She found it hard to comprehend what sort of monster could conceive of such awful strikes.

Students all across the Great Hall were looking horrified as copies of the_ Prophet_ made their way around all the House tables. Even many of the Slytherin students were looking uncomfortable and frightened.

The photo on the second page was perhaps even worse than the article on the first. It showed a scene of absolute chaos; people were running back and forth, young students were crying, and more than one could be seen on the ground, convulsing as though Cruciatus had been cast upon them. There was no sound, of course, but if there had been, Hermione was sure she would have heard agonised screaming.

Hermione shut the paper and pushed it away from her, not wanting to see any more. She saw Harry watching her out the corner of her eye, and turned to look at him.

"You knew, didn't you?" he said quietly, so that Ron could hear him, but no one else further down the table could.

She took a deep, shaky breath and replied, "I knew something was going to happen, but not this. I never imagined something like this."

She looked at him again.

"You knew, too, didn't you?" she said, suddenly realising he didn't look that shocked, either. Sickened, yes, but not shocked.

He nodded. "My scar was hurting this morning, in Potions. I know you didn't notice because you were sitting up the front, but Snape did. He saw me grimacing and rubbing it, but he didn't make a snide comment or anything; he looked worried."

Hermione looked at her empty plate, not saying anything.

"He knew it was going to happen."

It was a statement from Harry, not a question, but Hermione still felt compelled to set him straight.

"He knew, but don't blame him, Harry," she implored. "It's complicated. Professor Dumbledore forbade him to warn anyone."

"Ahh, that explains it," Harry said thoughtfully.

Other students were leaving the Great Hall after dinner, and Harry led Hermione and Ron out into the Entrance Hall, and then said, "I had a meeting with Professor Dumbledore last night. He started saying all this stuff that didn't really make sense at the time, about how we have to make sacrifices, and even after the fact one still wonders if they made the right decision. I bet he's wondering that just now."

Hermione nodded. "Professor Snape was furious with him the other night, but the Headmaster was trying to do the right thing by him. If anyone had been forewarned, he would have been killed. Voldemort was testing him."

"You-Know-Who doesn't trust him?" Ron asked, surprised.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know the details, but the Headmaster thought this would prove to Voldemort he was loyal – seemingly," she added, seeing the look on Ron's face, "once and for all."

Harry exhaled a breath. "High price to pay."

The trio milled around in the Entrance Hall for a while, listening to the talk and speculation of other worried students. No one was thinking of something as trivial as homework, but finally it was Ron who mentioned he had yet to complete the Charms essay that was due the next morning.

Harry groaned and agreed that he, too, had yet to finish it. Hermione, as always, had finished it before the weekend, and though she had other homework from the day's lessons, she had other matters on her mind. When they reached the first floor landing, Hermione parted with her friends. Ron assumed she was taking the short cut to the library, but Harry gave her a knowing look and nodded.

The corridor near the portrait of Ignatia Wildsmith was deserted, and Hermione slipped quietly through the door into the passage to Snape's quarters.

The fireplace in the sitting room was lit, but the room was empty except for Snape's black eagle owl, perched near his desk, head tucked under it's wing. She'd never actually seen the bird in his quarters before, and wondered at its presence until she saw a copy of the _Evening Prophet_ unrolled on his desk.

Opening the door to the lab, Hermione stopped and stared in wonderment. The Potions master was working on the charmed antidote again, and the room fairly glowed with the magic of the charms he was casting. Standing over the cauldron, his face was illuminated in a soft, golden glow from tendrils of magic that were wrapped around the outside of cauldron, twisting and turning. The only sound was Snape's low voice reciting a long incantation.

Hermione stood, transfixed, for quite some time before anything changed. A sudden wand movement from Snape sent the golden tendrils curling up and over the rim of the cauldron and into the brew, and then he raised his other hand. Hermione watched with astonishment as he used a second wand to levitate a small glass dish of what Hermione recognised as moonfilly droppings over the cauldron, evenly distributing the contents whilst still controlling the golden light within the cauldron with his other hand.

Directing the empty dish back onto the bench, Snape spoke another charm and the inside of the cauldron glowed with the brilliance of the rising sun for a moment, before the light subsided.

Breathing heavily, he adjusted the flame under the cauldron, tipped the hourglass on the bench and then sank gratefully onto the nearby stool, placing both wands on the bench in front of him.

Hermione had been too frightened to move earlier, lest she break his concentration, but now she went over and peered at the simmering potion. It looked the same as the normal antidote but for a slight luminescence where it met the side of the cauldron.

"Does it meet your approval?" the Potions master asked, smirking.

"Does it work?" she returned.

"So far," he said, exhaling a weary breath. "There is still one final charm to cast at the end, but the most complex stage is complete, and it appears to have been a success. We'll need more moonfilly droppings to make any more, though," he added.

"Complex is an understatement," she said, shaking her head. "That was amazing. How do you manage two wands and such complex charms?"

"Skill," he quipped, looking vaguely pleased with himself, and she rolled her eyes.

"Practice," he said, more seriously. "The main thing is concentration. Many witches and wizards, however accomplished at potions making, fail in making charmed potions simply because they lack the focus required to complete lengthy incantations."

Snape stood up, then, and crossed the room to the cabinet containing completed potions. He withdrew a small phial, unstoppered it and drank the contents; Hermione recognised it as a mild Pepper-Up Potion.

"I thought you said last night you didn't need that?"

"I had an assistant last night," he reminded her.

"If I'd realised you were doing this I would have been here earlier," she said apologetically, but he waved her off.

"Why are you here, anyway?" he asked, checking on the potion once more before leaving the lab for the other room. She followed, and he sat at his desk, pushing the Prophet aside. "Don't you have a meeting with Mr Malfoy and the Headmaster tonight?"

"I do, but not until eight," she said.

"And finished all your homework for the week, I suppose," he continued snidely.

"What are you, my Head of House?" she said, irritated. "No, I haven't finished it, but there are other things on my mind. I read the _Evening Prophet _at dinner, and-"

"Ah," he said, his voice suddenly distant as he glanced at his own copy, frowning at the headline.

"And you weren't at dinner in the Great Hall," continued Hermione, raising her voice a little in annoyance. "I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Couldn't be better," he said in a false, cheery voice that sounded all wrong coming from him. "Dumbledore was kind enough to borrow my owl to deliver a copy to me."

Tonatiuh untucked his head from beneath his wing and hooted softly.

"You know what I meant, Severus," Hermione said witheringly.

"I'm perfectly all right, as you can see," he said in the same, odd voice as he sat back and ran a hand through his hair. "The bottle of Firewhisky is untouched, all the glass objects in the room are still intact... I must be fine."

Hermione crossed her arms at sat across from him, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to take her question seriously. He looked away after a moment, and cleared his throat, then looked back, vaguely irritated to find her still watching him.

"I'm fine," he repeated, and stood up, muttering something about checking the potion again, even though Hermione knew it had to simmer for thirty-six hours now.

Hermione stood, too, frowning at his retreating back, but didn't follow. Instead, she walked over to where Tonatiuh was perched, and reached out to stroke the owl's silky feathers. The bird shuffled closer to her along the perch and ducked his head appreciatively as she scratched his neck.

"What can I do to help him?" she said softly to the bird. "I want to reach out to him, but I just don't know how."

The owl looked back at her with mournful eyes, seeming to understand her dilemma. Snape couldn't possibly be so unaffected by the attack after his reaction on Saturday night. He was clamping down on his emotions again, just as he had before he'd trusted her enough to let them show... she hated it, and she had no idea what do.

She was stroking the owl's soft feathers again and didn't notice Snape reappear in the doorway until he spoke.

"You're spoiling him."

She turned around to see Snape watching her from the entrance to the lab, where he was leaning against the doorframe. He seemed to have composed himself again.

"We were just talking about a, uh, mutual friend," she said lightly.

Snape narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, but didn't move from the doorway.

"Really?" he said. "And what, pray tell, were you saying about this friend?"

"Well," Hermione said evenly, meeting his gaze. "We're just a bit worried about him. He's been under a lot of pressure lately, you see, and we're concerned people are expecting too much of him. He won't say anything, of course, even if it is weighing him down. We just hope he knows his friends are here for him, if he needs us."

"Well," said Snape after a moment, a strange look on his face. "I'm sure your friend is… grateful… for your concern, and knows he can turn to you, should the need arise."

"He can," Hermione agreed. "Isn't that right, Tonatiuh?"

The owl hooted in affirmation.

Hermione held Snape's gaze in silence for a while longer, until the chiming of the clock on the mantle caught her attention.

"I have to go," she said, suddenly realising it was already eight o'clock. "I'll see you tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey asked for a couple of extra flasks of Pepper-Up. Apparently everyone is catching chills this winter."

She made a hasty exit before Snape could say anything, and almost ran upstairs to the Headmaster's office.

The staircase behind the stone gargoyle was closed when Hermione got there, panting slightly, and Malfoy was sitting on a stone bench in the corridor, a copy of the Evening Prophet in his hands. He shifted over slightly so there was room for her on the bench, too, but she eyed him suspiciously and chose to lean against the wall across from him, instead.

He shrugged to himself and glanced down at the newspaper, then at her again.

"Poor kids, huh?" he said, and Hermione was surprised at the lack of usual haughtiness in his voice. She still didn't trust him, though.

"They're Muggles, Malfoy," she said testily. "Since when did anyone in your family care what happens to them?"

The Slytherin's face darkened, but he bit back whatever retort he was going to make when the stone gargoyle opened to reveal the spiral staircase leading up to the Headmaster's office. Without waiting, Hermione stepped onto the first stair and let it carry her up to the round room at the top.

The Headmaster made no mention of the attack aside from a dire comment upon seeing the paper in Malfoy's hands, but when their meeting concluded an hour or so later, Hermione had made up her mind to stay and talk to the Headmaster about Snape. Malfoy didn't seem about to leave though, obviously wanting to speak to the Headmaster alone, too, so in the end Hermione decided her conversation could wait until their next meeting, and bid the Headmaster goodnight.

* * *

Tuesday night, after her designated Head Girl patrol and a rushed dinner, Hermione entered Snape's lab to find the Potions master in an exceptionally good mood. Although the charmed Cruciatus antidote had only been simmering for twenty-four hours, not the thirty-six required with the original antidote, Snape had added the final charm and, when she arrived, announced it to be complete.

"How will we know if it works?" she said, relieved, but still wary of the untested potion.

Snape frowned, looking at the flasks of cooled potion. "There's only one way to find out, I suppose," he said, retrieving a small phial of the original Cruciatus potion from the warded cupboard.

"You're not going to drink that," Hermione said, staring at him.

"Actually, I am," he said. "After I've also drunk the preventative potion we've just created."

"You don't know that it works, though," she reasoned, memories of the last time Snape was forced to test his own potion flooding her mind. It wasn't something she wanted to see again, let alone him have to go through it again, if the preventative didn't work.

"We won't know, either, without testing it," he said firmly, taking an empty phial and measuring a dose of the preventative into it. Seeing her look of distress, he added, "Besides, there's always the normal antidote, if this doesn't work."

"Oh, that's rich," she scorned, as he returned to the cupboard and retrieved a phial of the original antidote, too. "What am I supposed to do, tip it down your throat while you're thrashing about on the floor?"

He glared at her, and she knew there wasn't really another way to be sure it worked, but she wasn't prepared to back down without a concession.

"Can we at least go into the other room so you can lie down while you take it? You could really hurt yourself in here if it doesn't work."

He exhaled a long-suffering sigh, but muttered, "Very well," and picked up all three phials, beckoning her to follow.

In the other room, he sat on the couch and looked over at her. "Happy?"

"No," she retorted crossly. "You're not lying down, but I suppose it's better than nothing."

He smirked, and popped the stopper off the top of the preventative phial, downing the contents in a single gulp, grimacing at the taste.

He then uncorked the Cruciatus potion, but didn't put it to his lips right away, instead handing Hermione the third phial.

"If the first potion has failed," he said evenly, "have the antidote ready."

She looked from his phial to hers, growing increasingly worried. "If it's as bad as you said it was last time," she said, "how am I going to get this into you?"

"I have every confidence the preventative will work, Hermione," he said, but then amended, "and if it doesn't, you'll manage. Stupefy me if you have to."

She gaped at him. "Stupefy?"

"I'm not joking, Hermione," he said seriously. "Whatever you do, make sure you cast Stupefy and not Petrificus."

"Why not Petrificus?" she asked.

"Because," he said carefully, "casting Petrificus on someone under the Cruciatus Curse causes all the blood vessels in their body to burst."

She swallowed and backed away. "No. No way. We are not doing this."

"We are not," he agreed. "I am." He downed the phial of Cruciatus Potion.

Hermione had already moved towards him, wand out, when she realised nothing had happened. There was silence for a full minute, and then Snape stood up, carefully, as though making sure he was still in full control of his body.

"Well," he said at length, turning to her. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes were shining. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it appears you won't be able to Stupefy me tonight."

"But are you sure it's worked?" she asked nervously, ignoring his joke. Her wand arm was still tensed to react, just in case. "It's not just some sort of delayed reaction, is it?"

He shook his head, taking the two empty phials from the table, along with the full one from her hand, and walking back into the lab. "If something was going to happen, it would have been evident immediately. We have a working preventative."

Hermione followed him. "That's wonderful, then," she said with a sigh of relief, hesitantly adding, "especially after yesterday."

"Yes," Snape said tightly. "Dare I hope there will not be a repeat of such an incident now we have the means to counter it. I had better inform the Headmaster of our success."

"Your success," Hermione corrected, and he turned back in the doorway.

"No, it is most definitely our success," he said firmly. "I wouldn't have had half as much time to perfect the formula without your assistance in brewing other things."

"You still deserve credit for what you've done," Hermione said quietly after a moment, but Snape had already left the room and Flooed to the Headmaster's office.

All three Cruciatus-related potions were an outstanding accomplishment for Snape, but she knew it was unlikely he would ever receive public acknowledgement for them. He wouldn't want to be known as the creator of the original potion, of course, but the theories he'd used in developing the potions could be applied to creating mixtures to replicate the effects of other spells, and counter them.

Of course, the Order would know of his work, but the thanks he would have received for creating the preventative would be overshadowed by the fact that it wouldn't have been necessary if he hadn't successfully created the other potion in the first place.

Hermione hated how so many of his efforts went unrecognised, from his achievements in potions to the dangerous game he played in Voldemort's circle of supporters. In her third year, Hermione had thought the Potions master was petty and childish in his anger at Sirius Black and the loss of a promised Order of Merlin, First Class. Now, though, she fervently hoped that at the end of the war he would receive that accolade and more, and be free to be recognised for something other than having the mark of a Death Eater on his arm.

Hermione set about making the Pepper-Up Potion Madam Pomfrey had requested, and was almost finished by the time Snape came back from speaking with the Headmaster.

"Was he pleased?" she asked, as he walked over to the small desk and started rummaging through piles of parchment.

"Very," Snape said. "He believes there is a way to deliver the preventative to potential victims without the Dark Lord realising it has come from me."

Parchment in hand, Snape strode back into the sitting room, but then reappeared moments later, frowning.

"Have you seen my notebook?"

"The one I gave you?" Hermione shook her head. "I haven't used it since late last week. Why?"

"It was here last night," he said, searching through the haphazard piles of parchments again. "I could have sworn I left it on the desk."

"Do you need something from it?" Hermione asked, straining the finished Pepper-Up into three large flasks.

"I was just going to add the incantations to the antidote recipe, seeing as how my notes are rather disorganised as they are. No matter," he said, still frowning, but placed his parchment of notes back on the desk. "I have some marking I can do instead."

Hermione nodded and stoppered the three flasks as Snape went back into the other room. She cleaned her cauldron and placed it on the shelf against the wall, and then turned around just as Snape reappeared in the doorway... dressed in his Death Eater robes.

"What are you-" she began, startled, but then her eyes travelled to his right hand, which was gripping his left forearm tightly. There was a grimace of pain on his face when she met his eyes again.

"I'm being summoned," he said. "Will you inform the Headmaster?"

"Of course," she said, following him into the sitting room, "but what's going on? Why he is calling you tonight?"

"I don't know," he said uneasily, taking a handful of Floo powder. "It may just be a meeting to plan further attacks… unless something has happened I'm not aware of."

He tossed down the Floo powder and the fire flared green as he called out his destination.

"Be careful," she said softly, as he disappeared and the fire returned to its normal colour.

She went back into the lab for a moment to make sure the cupboards were locked and warded. The room was completely silent as she closed the door behind her and Flooed through to the Headmaster's office.

* * *

Apparating into the centre of a circle of dark, hooded figures, Severus Snape barely had time to draw a breath before a spell hit him square in the chest, knocking him flat onto his back.

An excited murmur went through the gathered Death Eaters, and he realised it wasn't dirt, grass or snow on which he'd landed, but a rough slab of cold stone.

He heard a whispered spell from somewhere nearby, and his wand flew from his grasp. He tried to move, but another hissed word sent invisible cords coiling around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the crude mockery of an altar.

He gasped as the cold night air hit his upper torso, suddenly and disturbingly void of his layers of clothing. Heart pounding, he looked around at his fellow Death Eaters, seeking some indication of what was happening.

Snape had seen the Dark Lord demonstrate his displeasure on countless occasions, and this setting had all the makings of a severe reprimand... the kind from which the victim rarely walked away in one piece.

What could he possibly have done to displease the Dark Lord so?

There's plenty you've done to warrant this, you idiot, he reminded himself. Just nothing the Dark Lord should actually know about.

There was silence in the circle, broken only by soft, deliberate footsteps approaching him from behind.

Recognising the futility of fighting the magical bonds that held him in place, he lay quietly and closed his eyes, concentrating on clearing his mind.

"Hello, Severus."

The high, cold voice of the Dark Lord sent a shiver down his spine, and he opened his eyes again to see his former master standing over him, watching him carefully.

Fixing a look of confusion on his face, Snape said, "My Lord, what-"

"Silence," the sibilant voice hissed. "I have not given you leave to speak."

Snape averted his eyes from the glowing, red pools of anger, and Voldemort laughed softly.

"You disappoint me, Severus," he said loudly, pacing a slow circle around Snape's prone form. "You have been invaluable to our cause; your skills as a Master of Potions – a title, I might add, you would not have gained so quickly without my help – has seen you supply us with wondrous and deadly concoctions. You have kept us informed on the dealings of that old fool who seeks to bring about my end, and helped to educate and cultivate the next generations of my faithful servants."

Voldemort stopped at his left side and lightly caressed the Dark Mark with the tip of one, skeletal finger. Snape shuddered, feeling as though some revolting beetle was creeping over the skin of his arm.

"One might imagine," Voldemort continued, addressing Snape, but still speaking loudly enough for the entire assembled group to hear, "that you are one of my most loyal servants."

There was a pause, in which the ring of watching Death Eaters seemed to draw inwards a little, and Snape held his breath, hoping he was wrong about what was to come.

Pain shot through his arm as the Dark Lord grabbed his forearm, long fingers digging sharply into the Mark, which flared to life and burnt black for the second time that night.

"And now," Voldemort snarled. "I find you have been defying me all along."

A ripple of surprise and shock ran through the other Death Eaters, along with a few open exclamations of, "Him!"

"No, my Lord!" Snape pleaded, trying to look genuinely shocked over the frightening realisation that was coursing through his veins. "There must be some mistake, I-"

"_Silencio_."

His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

"No, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed. "You will not be so lucky as to talk your way out of your fate this time. I have spent years listening to your excuses as to why, despite that old fool's trust in you, you cannot deliver either he or Potter to me. I have tolerated your excuses because your other skills have benefited our cause. But not anymore, Severus, my dear Master of Potions. Now, I have proof that you are working against me from within my own ranks."

Proof? A flicker of fear must have shown on Snape's face, and although he quickly managed to conceal it behind a look of confusion, Voldemort was quicker still. He laughed and finally released Snape's arm from his vice-like grip.

"My Lord," spoke up a voice from the edge of the circle. "Tell us how he has defied you, for in doing so he has betrayed us all."

Snape recognised the superior tones of the elder Malfoy and fervently hoped he hadn't managed to bring Draco along with him tonight. With that unpleasant thought came another – could Draco be the cause of his predicament? Had the young Slytherin somehow learnt of his true loyalties, or – possibly worse still – what had happened between he and Hermione? He had caught the Head Boy watching her suspiciously on more than one occasion in his presence.

"Wormtail!" Voldemort called imperiously. "Come show our dear friend what you discovered whilst scratching around in the dark corners of Hogwarts."

The noises in the lab.

Snape felt a shudder of fear run through him as Wormtail scampered from the edge of the clearing to the Dark Lord's side. Hermione had been hearing noises for weeks. The first time she'd mentioned them, he'd dismissed them as an excuse for her nosing through his work. He hadn't actually heard them himself, but Pettigrew had obviously been choosing his moments carefully, making careless sounds only when Snape's excellent hearing was out of range.

Hermione had heard the sounds again just two nights ago, but he'd been too preoccupied to do anything beyond cast a detection charm a few hours later, which had revealed the room to be empty.

The Dark Lord took something from Wormtail's hands, and held it up for Snape to see. For all his practice as a spy, he was unable to mask the look of horror that crossed his face as he stared at the notebook Hermione had given him for Christmas.

Wormtail cackled gleefully at his expression, and Voldemort stepped closer, hissing, "Do I sense a trace of fear, Severus?"

His heart was pounding; there was no way out this time. Still, he stared back defiantly; he wouldn't give the Dark Lord the satisfaction of begging for his life.

One of the Death Eaters in the circle called out, "What is it, my Lord?"

"These?" Voldemort said, leaving Snape's side to walk slowly around the ring of Death Eaters. "These is Severus' most prized potions, kept in, might I add, the book given to him by his little Mudblood assistant – how touching."

Some of the watching Death Eaters snickered, and Wormtail, still standing beside Severus, turned to him and said, "You're dead this time, traitor."

Finding the silencio spell had been lifted, Snape spat, "Better a dead traitor than a snivelling excuse for a spy like you. Tell me, Pettigrew, does the Dark Lord know of the life debt you owe to young Potter?"

"Shut up," Pettigrew said, suddenly looking frightened, and he drew his wand and pointed it at Snape, his pudgy arm shaking.

"Wormtail!" came the imperious voice of Voldemort from a short distance away. "Take your place in the circle; the traitor is mine."

Pettigrew sneered at Snape and slunk off to the edge of the clearing.

"So," the Dark Lord said loudly, making a great show of opening Snape's notebook. "Here we have the Cruciatus potion, which Severus so ingeniously invented for my personal use."

Snape closed his eyes momentarily, shivering from the cold and the realisation of what was going to happen. Not only had he been discovered, but the Dark Lord had in his possession the instructions for making the potion, and the only copy of the antidote, save for his scribble of charms on scrap parchment back in the lab.

"And this," Voldemort continued, "is the antidote to the Cruciatus potion – a potion to which there should _be_ no antidote."

He slammed the book closed, threw it to the ground, and crossed the clearing to where Snape lay.

"Do you still deny it, Severus?" he said softly, his eyes burning into Snape's skull, and he felt the prickling invasion of the master Legilimens.

"See for yourself," Snape whispered malevolently. Knowing he wouldn't survive the night, he derived a last bit of vindictive pleasure pushing various images of his betrayal to the forefront of his mind for the Dark Lord to see. Voldemort's eyes widened in horror, then narrowed as Snape pushed him from his mind before he was able to see anything else.

"So," he said softly. "My most trusted spy has been hiding things from me. My most trusted spy has actually been spying on me, not for me. What did he offer you that I could not, Severus? What could that old fool Dumbledore possibly have promised that turned my young Potions protégé against me?"

"Freedom," Snape spat, jerking at the magical bonds that held him in place.

The circle was getting restless at not being able to hear the exchange between them, and Voldemort held up a hand calling for silence. The murmurs stopped, and again the circle seemed to draw closer in anticipation.

"So," Voldemort said again, reaching into his robes. Snape was expecting him to withdraw his wand and cast Cruciatus or, if he was feeling merciful, end it quickly with the Killing Curse.

Instead, the Dark Lord withdrew a dagger from the folds of his robes, the sharp blade glinting in the light of the torches around the clearing, the handle engraved with etchings of some kind. It looked vaguely familiar to Snape, though he couldn't place where he'd seen it before, and he watched Voldemort run his finger carefully along the edge of the blade.

"Dumbledore thinks he can save you and give you freedom, does he?" Voldemort stepped up closer and fixed his eyes on Snape. The Potions master glared back defiantly, his hastened breathing the only outward sign of his fear.

Leaning down so his rancid breath caressed Snape's face, Voldemort whispered malevolently, "I am the only one who can save you from this."

White-hot fire exploded in Snape's chest as Voldemort drove the dagger in to the hilt, angling it upwards from its entry point below his ribs. The Dark Mark flared to life in his arm, too, and Snape heard himself screaming as a red haze started to cloud his vision. With a final twist of the dagger, Voldemort released the handle, leaving it buried deep in Snape's body, and turned to the watching crowd.

"Behold the traitor!" he yelled, and Snape heard the Death Eaters' answering cheers above the blood pounding in his head, and his painful, wheezing gasps for air.

The initial agony of the blade's entry passed, but it was sending sharp, stabbing pains through his body with every breath. He closed his eyes, willing it to be over soon, but knowing Voldemort would prolong the suffering of anyone who defied him.

"Such a pity for someone of your unique talent to die," Voldemort mused mockingly. "I can, of course, save you, and I'm willing to listen if you wish to plead for your life."

Voldemort wasn't lying, Snape knew; the Dark Lord could save him. He recognised the dagger as a Consanguinus Blade, a powerful implement of dark magic passed through the generations of some of the oldest wizarding families in the world. How the Dark Lord had come upon one, Snape didn't know. What he did know, though, was that only the person who inflicted the wound, or someone related to them by blood, could remove the blade; if anyone else attempted it, the blade would disintegrate and death would be quick. Left within the victim, death would come by slow and painful poisoning of the blood.

Snape wasn't fooled, though. The Dark Lord could save him from this fate, yes, but whatever else Voldemort had in mind for him would be far worse. This way, at least he would die with dignity.

"Go to hell," Snape spat. He gasped as the dagger sent another stabbing pain through his chest, but managed to choke out, "I'll see you there soon."

Voldemort stared down at him, disappointed, it seemed, that Snape refused to beg for his life.

"So be it," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should send you back to the old fool to die; a reminder to him that he cannot save everyone."

Snape closed his eyes and turned his head away. He didn't want Dumbledore to see this. As much as the Headmaster frustrated him at times, he was still the closest thing to a father Snape had known during his adult years. He knew Dumbledore hated having to ask him to return to Voldemort, time and again... there was just no other way.

But sending him back just to taunt the Headmaster, knowing there was no hope of him surviving... he didn't want Dumbledore to have to stand by helplessly and watching him die...

And then there was Hermione.

Despite the pain in his chest, he felt another ache, somewhere above the wound, when an image of her entered his mind. It was foolish to imagine his death wouldn't cause her pain now, and he cursed himself for letting her become so close to him. He should have known it would only hurt her, in the end.

"Well, Severus," the Dark Lord said, drawing him from his unhappy thoughts. "It seems you are of no more use to me, other than taunting the old fool, so back to Hogwarts you shall go."

Snape considered, for only one instant, to plead with his former master to let him die here, alone, but knew it would fall on deaf ears.

He watched as Voldemort withdrew his wand from his robes, picked up a rock from the ground and tapped it, saying, "_Portus_."

The Dark Lord released the magical bonds around Snape's wrists and ankles, but he found himself too weak to even raise his head from the stone, let alone launch himself at the monster.

Chuckling cruelly, Voldemort leant over him once more and whispered, "If you see Potter, tell him his time is near."

With that, Voldemort tossed the rock onto Snape's stomach, and he cried out in pain as the jerk of the Portkey tore him from the clearing.

He felt his body hit the ground hard, and a sharp pain as the point of the dagger shifted within him. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard the mournful cry of a phoenix. He tried to open his eyes, but the red haze he saw was quickly overcome with blackness, and he knew no more.

* * *

Wednesday morning dawned grey, a low fog hanging over the castle and grounds. Harry, Ron and Hermione were in the common room before breakfast, doing some last minute studying for the Defence Against the Dark Arts test they were to have during first lesson.

Professor Lupin considered practical tests much more indicative of skills in the subject than written ones, but, as he had told the class the previous lesson, the Ministry syllabus required at least one written test per year, and this was it.

Hermione had slept well for a change, despite Snape having been summoned the night before. Usually, she couldn't sleep unless she knew he'd returned safely, but when she'd informed Dumbledore of the Potions master's departure the previous night, the Headmaster had agreed it was probably nothing more than a gathering to plan further attacks.

In actual fact, the Headmaster seemed quite happy that Snape had been summoned, as it most likely meant Voldemort was pleased with the success of Monday's attack, and convinced enough of his loyalty to include him in the selection of further targets.

Reassured by the Headmaster's confidence, Hermione had gone to bed, awakening fresh and energised for the test, and the remainder of the day, which for her consisted entirely of Potions.

A quick glance when they entered the Great Hall for breakfast told her Snape wasn't there. Nor was the Headmaster, and she wondered if they were discussing whatever information Snape had managed to gain the previous night.

She, Harry and Ron were on their way back upstairs a while later to collect their books for the first lesson when she heard her name, and turned to see the Headmaster coming towards her on the first floor landing.

"Good morning, Professor!" she greeted cheerily. Harry and Ron echoed her, but then they drew closer to Dumbledore, and realised the old wizard was not smiling at all.

"Miss Granger," the Headmaster said solemnly. "I must ask you to come with me now. Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, kindly inform Professor Lupin that Miss Granger will not be attending your lesson this morning."

"But we have a test, Professor!" Ron said.

"It's okay," Hermione said slowly, placing her hand on Ron's arm, though her gaze didn't leave Dumbledore's. She suddenly had a horrible feeling of foreboding in the pit of her stomach.

"Hermione?" Harry said questioningly, looking from her to the Headmaster.

"Please, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely. "Go on to class. You will be informed of the situation if and when I am able."

Harry and Ron went on upstairs reluctantly, casting many backwards glances at Dumbledore. Hermione thought she would be led to his office, but he took her down the first floor passage, instead of upstairs, and stopped in front of the door that led to Snape's quarters.

"What's happened?" she whispered, as he opened the door with a touch of his wand and ushered her into the hidden passageway.

"Miss Granger," his voice said in the dark, "I must apologise to you. I fear I have made a grievous error, one that I cannot rectify."

Hermione lit her wand with a muttered, "Lumos," and stared at the old wizard for a moment. He looked haggard in the soft light.

"What are you talking about?" She moved off down the passage towards Snape's quarters, overcome by a sudden urgency she couldn't explain, brought on by the Headmaster's words and the awful, defeated look in his eyes.

"Miss Granger," he said as he followed her. "I fear I have misjudged the danger Severus is in each time he goes out at my bidding. His dedication and determination to do what I ask of him has lulled me into a false sense of security, one that I believe I shall regret hereafter."

The only sound was their footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

"Severus has been discovered."

Hermione stopped dead.

"No," she whispered, turning back to the Headmaster. The grave, sad look in his eyes spoke volumes more than any further explanation could.

"Come, Miss Granger," he said, gripping her arm gently and leading her towards the door at the end of the corridor. "I have left him alone, but for Fawkes, to fetch you."

"Is he hurt? How did he manage to get away?" They reached the end of the corridor and emerged into Snape's sitting room. She looked around, but it was empty; even the fire was dead.

"Tom sent him back."

She turned to look at the Headmaster again as he closed the door to the passage.

"I don't understand," she said, confused. "If Voldemort knows... why would he do that?"

"I believe Tom is mocking me," the Headmaster said heavily. "He has sent Severus back, knowing there is nothing I can do to save him."

Hermione stared at Dumbledore. She must have misheard him. He couldn't possible have just said...

"Nothing you- what are you saying?"

Dumbledore bowed his head for a moment, and then stepped closer to Hermione, taking her by the shoulders. She could see now that his eyes were bright, too bright, and he cleared his throat before he spoke again, his voice filled with sorrow.

"Miss Granger, Severus is dying."

* * *

**To be continued**


	25. Darkness Calls

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 25**

"_Miss Granger, Severus is dying."_

_Dying._ The word echoed in Hermione's head as she stared at the Headmaster in disbelief. She took a step back from him and his gnarled hands dropped from her shoulders.

"I am so very sorry," he said softly, looking for the first time as though he had lived every minute of his one hundred and fifty four years.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You're wrong. There must be something you can do, something _someone_ can do. He can't be... not now... not after... not now..."

"Miss Granger."

"What's wrong with him? Where is he?" she continued, looking around the room until her eyes fell on the closed bedroom door. "Is he in there?"

She moved towards it, her heart beating a frantic cadence in her chest. He was just the other side of the door. She knew it; she could feel it... feel _him_.

"Miss Granger, wait!" Dumbledore's voice was firm, but Hermione paid him no mind, and she shrugged off the cautionary hand he placed on her shoulder as she opened the door and stepped into the room.

She stopped just inside the door, though, staring at the tableau before her.

The heavy, velvet curtains were drawn across the window, the only light in the room emanating from torches set in two wall sconces, the flames throwing shadows across the rough stone walls and a soft, warm glow across the bed where the Potions master lay.

Fawkes the phoenix sat perched on the corner of the bed head, and the bird lifted his head from where his gaze had been fixed on the prone man to watch Hermione move further into the room.

Snape's eyes were closed; the only signs of life were the faintest rise and fall of his chest and the pained expression on his face that gave away his consciousness. He was lying on top of the dark blue duvet, but a matching sheet had been draped loosely over his legs, which still appeared to be clad in his usual black trousers. They were the only clothes left on his body.

As Hermione moved around the side of the bed, something glinting in the firelight caught her eyes, and she drew her gaze down Snape's pale, exposed torso. She gasped softly as she saw the intricate silver handle of a knife protruding crudely from beneath the ribs on the right side of his chest.

There was no blood around the wound, only a dull bruising that seemed to radiate out from the knife in a vein-like pattern under the skin. She reached out a hand involuntarily to touch it, but was stopped at a sharp sound from the Headmaster, who had moved to stand across the other side of the bed.

"Why is it still in him?" she asked shakily.

"I cannot remove it," Dumbledore said.

At the sound of their voices, Snape opened his eyes and, after a moment, he turned his head slightly and focused on the Headmaster.

"Albus," he greeted weakly, the usual timbre of his voice roughened with pain.

Dumbledore smiled grimly at Snape, and then glanced at Hermione. The Potions master followed his gaze, his dark eyes meeting hers only for a moment before he turned his head away again.

"Why is she here, Albus?" he said resignedly. "She doesn't need to see this."

"You would deny her the chance to say goodbye, Severus?" the Headmaster said softly.

Snape closed his eyes again, in pain or shame, and Hermione was unable to hold back the sob that had been building in her throat at the realisation of why Dumbledore had brought her.

"There must be something we can do," she said tearfully.

The Headmaster shook his head sadly.

"Do you know what that dagger is, Miss Granger?"

It _did_ look familiar, now she looked at it again, but she shook her head.

"It's called a Consanguinus Blade," Dumbledore said gravely. "An extremely powerful implement, and one only created through dangerous, Dark magic."

"Consanguinus," she repeated slowly. "Blood… something?"

"Blood loyalty," the Headmaster confirmed with a nod. "Only a blood relation of the one who inflicted the wound can remove it."

"Successfully," Snape rasped, and then lifted his head and coughed harshly, biting back a cry of pain as the action shifted the blade within his body.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, watching as Snape sank back into the pillows again, a sheen of sweat shining on his forehead.

"If anyone else removes it, death will be instantaneous," Dumbledore said.

"And save this pointless waiting," Snape bit out, clenching his jaw tightly as another wave of pain hit him. On impulse, Hermione reached forwards and grasped his hand, futilely wishing she could help. He twisted his hand around to reverse their positions, and it was her turn to bite back a cry as he gripped her hand tight enough to crush it.

When the pain dulled again, he released her and closed his eyes, breathing unevenly.

Massaging her hand a little, and fearing the answer to the question she knew she had to ask, she said, "Who did it? Who stabbed you?"

"Voldemort," Snape spat, and the strangeness of hearing him utter the Dark Lord's name for the first time was overshadowed as she realised the dire situation they faced. Did the man that had once been Tom Riddle even _have_ any blood relations, let alone one who could help them?

"Does he have any-" She broke off since the Headmaster was already shaking his head.

"None that I know of, and I would be surprised if any have escaped my knowledge," said the Headmaster.

Hermione bowed her head and swallowed thickly, the lump in her throat refusing to go away.

"There is, however," Dumbledore continued, "somewhere which will answer the question once and for all. It is the other part of the reason I have asked you here, Miss Granger, to stay with Severus while I go."

Snape gave a faint snort, and Hermione saw the ghost of a sneer on his face as he said, "It seems Albus is more afraid of my dying alone than I am."

"Shouldn't he be in the Hospital Wing?" she asked Dumbledore, frowning at the Potions master's morbid sense of humour. "What if something happens while you're gone. I'm not-"

"Madam Pomfrey can do nothing for him," the Headmaster said. "The Hospital Wing is too exposed. I would prefer word of what has happened not to leave this room, although that may be out of my hands. I do not know that we are safe from prying ears, even here."

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Who could overhear us in here?"

"Pettigrew," Snape said, his face contorting again in a grimace of pain.

"_Wormtail?"_ Hermione exclaimed. "But what... wait... _he's_ the spy?"

"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore said, "though I'm at a loss to explain how he has evaded us. Somehow, he has been able to access Grimmauld Place, and found his way into Severus' lab to spy on him at Voldemort's bidding."

The noises. Hermione cursed herself silently for not having mentioned it to Snape earlier, for not having insisted he do something about whatever it was.

"I don't understand," she said after a moment. "I've been hearing those sounds for weeks. Why did he wait until now to expose you?"

"Wormtail has been feeding the Dark Lord tales of my deception for months," Snape explained, stopping to draw as deep a breath as the stabbing pain of the knife would allow. "Christmas was a test, which I managed to talk my way out of. The attack on the Muggle school was my final test. It confused the Dark Lord when I succeeded, and he demanded Wormtail provide him with absolute, definitive proof of my betrayal."

"What proof?"

"The instructions for making the Cruciatus antidote."

"You couldn't find the notebook," Hermione said, all the pieces suddenly falling into place. "That was the first night I didn't hear noises in the lab after you left."

"So now," Snape continued, "the Dark Lord has the means to brew the Cruciatus, the only decent description of the preventative potion, and the Order has no spy to bring warning of any attacks."

"That's not what is important now, Severus," the Headmaster said.

"Of course it's bloody important, old man. There's-" He broke of as a particularly strong spasm of pain wracked his body, and he gasped, fisting his hands in the dark blue duvet below him.

"I must make haste," Dumbledore said, glancing worriedly from the Potions master back to Hermione. "I hope I won't be long."

Dumbledore raised his arm, and Fawkes flew gracefully from the bedpost to land gently on his sleeve. The Headmaster left the room quickly, closing the door behind him, and Hermione turned back to Snape.

He'd closed his eyes again, a faint grimace of pain still lingering on his face. The strange, web-like bruising on his chest seemed to have spread, and the skin around it was deathly pale, the old claw marks on the other side of his chest standing out starkly.

She didn't need a Mediwitch to tell her he didn't have long, and if Dumbledore failed to find whatever he was looking for... she sank down into the chair that had been placed beside the bed and finally allowed her tears to fall, bowing her head as they ran silently down her cheeks.

"Hermione."

His voice was barely a whisper. She looked up to find him watching her, and a look of despair crossed his pale face as he saw her tears.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm just... I can't..."

How could she say what she really felt? It would only hurt him to know the pain he was causing her, losing him now after she'd only just really come to know him... to like him... to love him.

She couldn't tell him that, though. Not now. _Not ever_, a small voice said in the back of her mind, even though she knew he felt something in return.

Finally, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she said aloud, "Is there really no hope?"

"Very little," he admitted weakly. "Fate seems to be playing a cruel trick. I never expected to survive the Dark Lord's second reign; I was lucky to survive the first unscathed, really. Now, just when I've realised that perhaps living wouldn't be such a terrible burden after all, it seems my decision has been made for me."

She looked up at his face, and his dark eyes locked with hers. Dare she even imagine she played a part in his want to survive, or was she reading too much into his words, hearing what she wanted to hear?

"I don't plan to turn all sentimental, even if this is – and it looks very much like it will be – my deathbed," he said, the corners of his mouth quirking up momentarily in the smallest smile, "but it would be a disservice to you if I didn't tell you how thankful I am to have had your friendship these past months."

"And you'll continue to have it," she said firmly, her Gryffindor determination suddenly kicking in. The Headmaster might have all but given up, and Snape might have given up, but while he was still living and breathing she wouldn't give up hope... she couldn't.

"Hermione, don't fool yourself," he said softly.

"Dumbledore said there might-"

"Albus doesn't want to acknowledge the fact that he cannot protect everyone, that he is powerless to stop this. It is why I was sent me back, to mock his failure. Would the Dark Lord have risked it if there was the slightest chance I might survive?"

"He's made mistakes before," Hermione insisted. "There must be a loophole-"

"Don't be stupid," he scoffed. "This is ancient, powerful magic. There are no loopholes. If the removal of the blade doesn't kill me, the poison will. It's already taking effect, as you can see it."

She glanced down at his chest. What she'd taken for bruising had spread again, the longest tendrils reaching up to his shoulders and down his left arm to the reddened outline of the Dark Mark. It wasn't bruising at all, she realised with a start, but the poison invading his body.

He coughed again, and gasped as the heaving movement of his chest brought a fresh wave of pain with it. Hermione leant forwards and grasped his fisted hand, prying the tightly clenched fingers apart and allowing him to grasp her hand again.

This time, when it passed, he retained his grip on her hand, breathing harshly.

"I need you to listen to me, Hermione," he said urgently. "Albus is going to need your help. The Wolfsbane – you've made it before, and you're going to have to make it again."

"Not if you can still do it," she said stubbornly.

"Dammit, Hermione, wake up!" he shouted hoarsely. "I'm as good as dead! You have to do this."

Hermione readied herself to shout back that he wasn't dead yet, but relented when she saw how the effort of his harsh words seemed to exhaust him. He lay his head back, closing his eyes again, and Hermione noticed his breathing had suddenly taking on a rasping quality, as though he had to make a conscious effort to force air into his lungs.

"Tell me what I have to do," she sighed, adding silently, _just in case_.

"The antidote. The Dark Lord has the instructions for the Cruciatus potion, but you might still have a use for the antidote. Can you follow my original notes to make it? They're still somewhere on the desk in the lab."

She nodded.

"Good," he said, breathing heavily. "You'll need more droppings for the next batch. Visit the moonfilly; she'll trust you."

"What about the charmed antidote, the preventative?" she asked. "Do you still have your old notes for that, too?"

"It's all there," he said, "but they're a mess."

"I think I could make it if I had some help," she said hesitantly. "Not as well as you could, obviously, but I think I could do it if I had to."

"I have no doubt you could, Hermione," he said, his voice suddenly taking on a strange quality as he opened his eyes again, the flames of the torches reflected in the dark pools. "You are an extraordinarily determined young woman."

She felt tears prickling the back of her eyes again, but forced a small, sad smile onto her face and said, "Is it any wonder, then, that I won't give up on you?"

"That, I'm afraid, is a lost cause," he said, clearing his throat with some difficulty. "I'm sorry you have to witness this."

"You'd rather I not be here?" she asked, hurt. "You don't think it would be worse if you... if I didn't have a chance to say... anything?"

"And what would you say?" he enquired softly.

"I..." She stared into his eyes, and the room was silent but for the soft crackle of the torches on the wall and his laboured breathing.

"I don't know," she admitted softly after some time. "Or, I do, but I don't know how to say it."

"Then perhaps it is better left unsaid, for both our sakes," he said, turning his head from her, a pain in his eyes that she suspected had nothing to do with his wound.

There was silence again; Hermione watched Snape's face as he stared unseeing across the room, away from her. He was masking his pain well, but a thin sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead in the last few minutes, little droplets running down the side of his face and into his hair.

Hermione pulled her wand from the pocket of her school robes and conjured a cool, damp cloth. He started slightly at her first touch, but then relaxed and turned his head into her hand, watching her as she gently wiped the sweat from his brow and pushed the damp strands of hair back behind his ears.

"Thank you," he said softly as she finished.

"I wish I could do more," she replied, folding the cloth and placing it on top of the chest of drawers behind her.

"I always thought," he said, his eyes open but staring at the canopy over the bed, "when I was finally discovered it would be in a confrontation... the so-called Final Battle, if you will. At least that way, when I died, I could have taken a few Death Eaters with me."

"And everyone would see you for who you really are," she murmured.

If he died now, he would forever be known as a traitor to both sides, with very few knowing the truth of his toils. The Order would know, of course, but if Moody was anything to go by there was little trust for the former Death Eater, even amongst those with whom he worked side-by-side.

It troubled her greatly that no one would ever truly understand the sacrifices he had made so they might live, and who would believe her if she tried to explain it to them? The persona he presented to the outside world was so at odds with the brilliant, tireless man she knew... _she_ wouldn't have believed it either, six months ago.

He made a small grunt of discomfort and she reached out to take his hand again, but at that moment the door opened and Dumbledore re-entered the room. Hermione rose from her chair, watching him expectantly. Snape seemed to be holding his breath.

Dumbledore walked to the foot of the bed and stood looking down at the Potions master, his eyes shadowed by the angle of his head.

"I'm sorry."

Hermione sat down quickly, the wind knocked out of her as though she'd been hit by a Bludger.

"How long?" she said, unable to disguise the tremble in her voice.

"A day, at most," Dumbledore said heavily. "The poison is already active."

Hermione blinked, trying to clear her eyes as well as her mind. Swallowing to dislodge lump lodged thickly in her throat, she latched onto the least emotional thing that crossed her mind.

"Where did you go, sir?" she asked Dumbledore.

"To the National Wizarding Archives at the Ministry of Magic," he said. "A registry of all magical persons and their relations, dating back to the 12th century. I had hoped there might have been a line of Tom Riddle's ancestors that I had previously overlooked in my own research. Unfortunately, it was not to be. He is, as we had feared, the last of his family."

"Is there nothing else that can be done?" Hermione persisted. "No way to... undo the charm, or fool it into thinking one of us is related to Voldemort?"

"This is no mere charm, Miss Granger," the Headmaster admonished. "Blood magic is a most potent form of magic, and when combined with Dark spells it has strengths unknown."

"Are there any books that speak of it?" she continued. "Surely how to create one of the daggers is documented somewhere. Maybe that will give us a clue as to-"

"This is Dark magic, Hermione," Snape said. "Not something for children to play about with. I doubt there is even mention of it in the Restricted Section."

"I gave Harry a book on Blood Magic for Christmas," she said. "Maybe there's…"

Her eyes went wide and she gasped as a sudden thought hit her. The magic of the blade wasn't concerned with relatives of Tom Riddle, it was likeness of _blood_ that dictated a relationship. Shared blood.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "Voldemort has Harry's blood!"

Dumbledore actually paled and grasped the bedpost for support. Snape stared at her, and hope flickered in his eyes momentarily before fading as he said, "The Dark Lord only took a small amount from Potter. I doubt it's enough to even register a likeness."

"On the contrary, Severus," Dumbledore said, his face suddenly alive with anticipation. "Tom used Harry's blood to bring himself back to his body. Harry's blood and Wormtail's blood, to be exact. By rights, the blood in his new body was _created_ from Harry's blood."

"It would depend," Hermione said slowly, thinking, "whether the dagger was created before or after he returned to his body."

"If it was before," Snape said, catching onto her line of thinking, "it won't work because Potter's blood wasn't present in him at the time."

"Chances are, though, he came upon it after his return," Dumbledore said. "Severus, have you ever seen him use it before?"

"No."

Dumbledore paced at the end of the bed, deep in thought. Hermione's eyes drifted from him back to Snape. The sudden excitement seemed to have exhausted the Potions master, and he looked paler than ever.

"Sir, we don't have much time," Hermione said urgently. "How will we know if it's going to work?"

Dumbledore stopped pacing and glanced at Snape, worry etched on his features.

"There's no way of knowing," he said. "We can only try."

"If it doesn't work, I'm dead anyway," Snape murmured. "At least this way will be quick."

"What do you mean?"

Dumbledore sighed. "If Potter isn't recognised by the magic, the blade will disintegrate."

Hermione stared in horror from the Headmaster to Snape, who looked remarkably calm, given the gravity of the situation.

"It's worth a try," he said softly.

She nodded, sitting down again. "How are we going to explain this to Harry? He's not going to do this without some explanation."

"I shall fetch Mr Potter now," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps, Miss Granger, you might speak to him when he arrives."

Hermione nodded again, and the Headmaster left the room. As the door closed behind him, Snape suddenly gasped and fisted his left hand in the bedclothes. Looking down at his arm, Hermione saw the outline of the Dark Mark suddenly turn black.

"Is he calling you?" she asked in disbelief.

"No," Snape said through gritted teeth. "He's checking whether he can still sense me... whether I'm still alive."

Sweat was pouring down his face again, and Hermione retrieved the washcloth, repeating her earlier gesture while the pain of the Mark subsided.

As she drew away, he took her wrist in his hand and pulled her down slightly so she was forced to sit on the edge of the bed. Balancing herself gingerly so as not to cause any undue pain to him with the movement of the mattress, she stared at their linked hands, unwilling to meet his eyes.

"Hermione."

He repeated her name once again, and she looked up at him then. His dark eyes were grave and serious.

"I want you to listen to me," he said. "Whatever happens, you cannot blame yourself if this doesn't work. You've given me a chance, which is more than I had before, and we are only prolonging the inevitable in doing nothing. Either outcome will be a release for me, you know that."

She nodded, blinkly rapidly as her eyes filled again.

"Please don't," he said softly, squeezing her hand as a wry smile crept onto his face. "It will work, knowing my luck, and I'll owe another Potter a life debt."

Hermione choked out something halfway between a sob and a laugh, and said, "It would be worth a hundred life debts to save you."

His raised a surprised eyebrow and she ducked her head, blushing.

"Well, I think so, anyway," she murmured softly.

After a moment, she felt his hand brush her jaw, the pad of his thumb absently brushing away a stray tear as it traced its way down her cheek. She raised her gaze to his face, and there was a strange, faraway look in his eyes.

"If you'd only been born twenty years ago," he murmured, "how different my life might have been."

Her eyes widened, then spilled over at his heartfelt pronouncement, realising it was perhaps the closest thing to '_I love you'_ she could ever hope to hear from him.

She raised her own hand to cover his, pressing it into her cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin and a faint tremor as another ripple of pain passed through him. Her tears continued to fall, running down in between their entwined fingers and into the sleeve of her jumper.

She had no answer for his declaration, even if she could have found her voice, and so they sat there for some time, just... together.

Hermione was startled out of her reverie as the Headmaster opened the door, and she released Snape's hand, letting it drop from her cheek as she untwined her fingers from his other hand, still resting on the duvet.

Dumbledore, saying nothing though she knew he'd seen them part, beckoned Hermione to the doorway. She stood up carefully from the bed, and when she reached him, he said, "Harry would like to speak to you."

She nodded, and exited the bedroom for the sitting room. The Headmaster closed the door softly behind her.

Harry was facing the huge windows, staring out across the grounds. He turned to face her as she walked over to him, and took in her puffy eyes and tear-streaked face.

"Hermione," he said, pulling her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around her best friend and finally let out everything she'd been holding back in the other room, sobbing into the soft fabric of Harry's school robes.

It felt different to the scratchy fabric of Snape's frock coat, she noticed, and that comparison made her cry even harder, knowing she might never have the chance to embrace her other friend again.

"It must be bad," Harry joked half-heartedly, "if Snape needs me to help. What's going on?"

Hermione pulled back from her friend, ignoring the wet patch across the shoulder of his robes.

"Professor Dumbledore didn't tell you?"

Harry shook his head. "He just said he needs my help. I'm assuming it's got to do with Snape – these are his rooms, aren't they?"

Hermione nodded and walked across the room to sit on the edge of one of the armchairs by the empty fireplace.

She took a deep breath. "Harry, Professor Snape has been discovered by Voldemort."

Harry let out a long, low breath and moved to sit across from her. Hermione knew there was still great animosity between her green-eyed friend and the Potions master, but Harry had grown up immensely in the past two years, and he recognised the importance of Snape's position with the Death Eaters, his value to the Order, and the consequences of him being found out.

"How bad is it?" he asked after a moment.

"He's dying," she said softly. "Dumbledore can't do anything for him; none of us can, except you."

"Me?" Harry said. "What can I do that Dumbledore can't?"

Taking another deep breath, she explained as briefly as she could what had happened. Harry paled as she explained what she knew of the Consanguinus Blade, and he made the link to his blood without her assistance.

"Will it recognise my blood, even if I'm not actually a... _relation_... of Voldemort?"

"Professor Dumbledore seems to think so," she said. "It's _blood_ magic, after all. Other genetic similarities don't seem to matter."

Harry nodded, his expression unreadable. "And if we're wrong?" he asked.

She lowered her head and heard Harry murmur, "I see."

"I know you don't like him, Harry," she said desperately. "God knows he's never been fair to you, and I won't try to make excuses for that. He's sarcastic and short-tempered, and he has no patience for the weak-minded or the undisciplined, but he's also brilliant and witty, determined to make right what he can of his past, and dedicated to bringing Voldemort down – a dedication which might have cost him his life."

She broke off when she realised Harry was staring at her oddly.

"What?" she said.

"You really care about him, don't you?" he mused in slight disbelief.

"He's my friend, Harry," she said. "Just like you and Ron. I know it's hard to reconcile that with the man you know, but that's not who he really is; that's who he has to be. Do you understand the difference?"

"Yeah, I do," said Harry, looking vaguely surprised. "Sort of like the, uh, _Boy-Who-Lived_ versus just Harry, right?"

"Exactly." She smiled at her friend, but then sobered, adding, "You're the only hope he's got, Harry, and we've lost enough good people to this war, haven't we?"

"You're right," Harry said after a moment, fixing a steely resolve on his face. "Tell me what I have to do."

"Thank you." She stood up and pulled her friend up from his chair, enveloping him in another quick hug before leading him to the bedroom door.

She knocked softly before opening the door, and Dumbledore glanced up as she entered the room, Harry close behind her. The Headmaster rose from where he'd been sitting in the chair next to the bed.

She approached the left side of the bed and looked down at Snape. His eyes were squeezed shut, all pretence of comfort gone, and his breath was coming in short, wheezing gasps. The poison had spread, the purple pattern of veins snaking across every part of exposed skin Hermione could see but for his face.

"Severus," she said softly, reaching out to lightly touch his pale cheek.

He opened his eyes a fraction, but his gaze moved past her to rest on Harry, standing at the foot of the bed, watching the exchange with that same, unreadable expression as earlier.

"Potter."

"Hello, sir," Harry returned. "Never thought I'd see this part of the castle."

"Take a good look," Snape rasped out between pained breaths. "It's the first and last time you'll ever be here."

"Severus," Dumbledore said reproachfully as he moved to stand next to Harry, then said seriously, "We should get this over with, if you're ready?"

"Of course, don't want to keep the Grim Reaper waiting," Snape said in a last attempt at making light of the situation. When he looked at Hermione, though, the depths of his eyes were filled only with acceptance and resignation.

"I..." Suddenly everything she wanted to say came flooding into her mind, and her throat tightened as she tried to speak.

He shook his head slightly, gaze softening as he said quietly, "I know."

She reached out to take his hand, instead, squeezing it tightly as much for her own reassurance as his.

Harry moved around the side of the bed closest to the dagger, eyeing it with a mixture of revulsion and fear. Dumbledore, still at the foot of the bed, also looked like he was about to speak, but Snape again shook his head.

"Do your worst, Potter," he said, his gaze drifting to Hermione one last time as he closed his eyes.

Harry glanced at Dumbledore once, and when the Headmaster nodded he reached forwards, gripped the handle of the dagger tightly in both hands and pulled.

For the barest instant, Hermione thought it had worked.

Then, Snape face contorted in a terrible grimace of pain, and his hand ripped free from hers to claw at the wound as a howl of agony tore from his throat.

The hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stood on end as a strange, magical energy crackled about the room, and the torches on the wall suddenly seemed veiled as a strange gloom grew around the bed.

Where the tip of the blade should have come out cleanly, tendrils of what Hermione could only describe as pure darkness were wrapped about it, twisting their way up towards the handle of the blade.

Harry's movement faltered, and he struggled as though some invisible force was drawing the blade back into Snape's body.

"It won't come out!" he cried, pulling harder still as Snape's hoarse screams reached a crescendo. The blade tip suddenly sprang free from the wound, and in the same instant Hermione was blinded as a sudden, howling wind came from nowhere to whip her hair into her face.

The black tendrils reached the hilt of the dagger and crept onto the handle, wrapping around Harry's fingers.

"Get them off me!" he yelled, his eyes wide and terrified as he struggled, jerking his arms roughly backwards.

Snape screamed again, and his whole body convulsed up off the bed as more strange ropes of darkness sprang forth from the wound.

"Help him!" Dumbledore bellowed from over the roar of the unearthly wind, and Hermione, not knowing whether he meant Snape or Harry, reached forwards to still the Potions master's clawing hands.

Before she could touch him, though, she found herself bound still, unable to move her body. Her eyes could still turn, though, and she looked to Dumbledore in a terrified plea for help, but he, too, was similarly frozen.

"What the hell is this?" Harry yelled, leaning backwards and using the weight of his whole body to fight the strange magic of the dagger.

"Keep pulling!" Dumbledore called, and Hermione realised she still had the use of her voice, too.

"I'm trying!" Harry yelled, stumbling backwards a few steps across the room in renewed effort.

The Potions Master's howling screams were growing weaker, and Hermione could see bloody tracks across his torso from his own nails.

Underneath the skin of his chest, the vein-like pattern of what she'd first mistaken for bruising, and then poison, was writhing, moving slowly back towards the wound. Every time Harry gained ground it moved a little more, and Hermione realised it was the magic of the blade, which had somehow been spreading itself through Snape's body.

If Harry could extract it all, would that save him?

"Come on, Harry. You can do it!" she shouted, unable to offer any other assistance, frozen as she was.

The light in the room seemed to grow dimmer still, loose tendrils of darkness breaking off from the main rope between Harry and Snape to coil about the bed. The wind intensified to a shriek, and tears stung Hermione's eyes; even Snape's cries of pain were drowned out by the noise.

Hermione could see the end of the strand of magic in his body, writhing just under the surface, close to the wound.

"You're almost there, Harry," she cried. "Just a bit more!"

Harry had backed halfway across the room by now, keeping the string of magical darkness taut, lest it smother and consume him. One stray tendril was still latched onto his hand, wrapping itself around his wrist, trying to dislodge his grip on the dagger.

Steeling himself, he gave a sudden, violent yank, and the whip-like end of the coil sprang from Snape's chest as a shockwave of magic exploded across the room. Hermione just had time to witness the cloud of darkness form into the smoky shape of a skull, before an invisible hand slapped her in the chest and flung her back across the room.

When she opened her eyes, the air had cleared and she found herself free to move. She saw the Headmaster shakily picking himself up from near the door.

Getting to her feet, she saw Harry, too, gingerly standing up, leaning against the far wall, exhausted.

The light in the room had returned to normal; there was no sign of whatever magical anomaly had just taken place, but for the dagger clutched firmly in Harry's hand.

Approaching the bed, she fixed her eyes on the prone form of the Potions master, lying completely motionless in the centre of the bed, his hands still clenched into fists.

The wound in his chest had all but disappeared, a thin, red line like a newly healed scar the only sign of it ever having existed. Was it her imagination, or was his chest rising and falling? It was so faint she couldn't tell if she was seeing things, phantom movements fuelled by her desperate hope that he was still alive.

Out the corner of her eye, she saw Harry and the Headmaster approaching the bed, too, and she reached out her hand gingerly to touch Snape's face.

It was warm and drenched in sweat, and her fingers became sticky with it as they trailed down to find the pulse point at his neck. Barely daring to breath herself, she pressed firmly against the pale skin.

A quick, faint pulse met her fingers, and she collapsed on the edge of the bed in relief.

"He's alive," she choked out, not removing her fingers from his neck for a moment, reassuring herself the beat wasn't merely a product of her hopeful imagination.

Dumbledore came up the other side of the bed and drew his wand, muttering a spell Hermione had heard Madam Pomfrey use before. A soft, blue orb sprang forth from his wand and hovered over the Potions master's chest for a moment before forming into a strange series of runes. The figures hung in the air for a few seconds and then faded.

Dumbledore lowered his wand, frowning, and turned to Harry.

"Well done, Mr Potter," he said. "It seems you have succeeded."

"Succeeded?" Harry said, disbelieving. "All you told me I had to do was pull the knife out. What the hell was that... that _thing_!"

"I don't know," Dumbledore said gravely. "I've never seen anything it before."

"Will he be okay?" Hermione asked, looking down at the man next to her. She could see him breathing more clearly now, but he showed no signs of waking.

"I hope so," the Headmaster said heavily. "Whatever happened just now, I cannot explain it beyond the fact that there was some powerful Dark magic at work; more powerful, perhaps, than the blood magic of the dagger."

"Are _you_ okay?" Hermione asked, looking to Harry.

Her friend nodded, staring down at the dagger clutched in his hand. "I think so," he said shakily. "I just... that was... intense."

"Hmm," Dumbledore said, appraising Harry carefully. "You should see Madam Pomfrey, for a Pepper-Up Potion at the very least, and come to me immediately if you experience any strange symptoms. For now, though, I'm afraid it will be best if you return to your classes, so as not to arouse suspicions of your whereabouts."

Harry nodded, but Hermione said, "Headmaster, can't I-"

"Not you, Miss Granger," he said. "I would ask that you remain here. There are many things to be done, but I am reluctant to leave Severus alone."

Hermione nodded thankfully.

"I'll let you know when he wakes up," she said.

The Headmaster hesitated as if he were about to say something, but then appeared to change his mind. "I shall return when I can, Miss Granger. Harry, I'd like a word. I shall wait for you in the other room if you'd like a moment."

The old man left the bedroom, though it seemed to Hermione he wasn't as happy as he should have been, given that they'd just saved Snape's life.

Harry came around the side of the bed on which Hermione was sitting, set the dagger on the chest of drawers nearby, and then leaned down to hug her.

"Thank you so much, Harry," she whispered, hugging him fiercely back.

"You're welcome... I think," he said, glancing over her shoulder at the unmoving Potions master. "I hope he's all right, and I'm not just saying that, either. He's... I guess I've never realised what he goes through..." he trailed off.

"I'm sure he'll be horrified to hear of your concern," she tried to joke, earning a half-hearted smile from her friend.

Harry murmured a soft farewell and left the room, pulling the door over behind him but not quite closing it.

Hermione turned back to Snape and drew a deep, shaky breath. His breathing was still faint and shallow, and as she watched him she saw a shiver run through his body.

She straightened the sheet over his legs where it had become twisted, pulling it up to his waist. Then, settling more securely on the bed next to him with her legs folded underneath her, she reached up and rested the back of her hand on his forehead. It was burning hot, and faint, red spots had appeared high on his cheekbones.

Out in the sitting room, she could hear Harry and Dumbledore talking in low voices before they departed. The Headmaster was probably cautioning him – unnecessarily – about the need for discretion.

Hermione reached behind her to retrieve the washcloth she'd conjured earlier, dampening it with a flick of her wand. She wiped away the sweat that had beaded on Snape's face again, before folding the cloth carefully and draping it across his forehead, pressing down gently.

Glancing down, she saw his hands still clenched tightly into fists, a tiny rivulet of blood running from the left one where his nails had broken the skin.

Conjuring another cloth, she took his left hand in her own, frowning as she gently prised his fingers apart with some difficultly, the skin slick with sweat just like his face.

Once she'd exposed his palm, she pulled his arm over to rest in her lap so she could heal the small nail marks. Picking up her wand again from where it sat beside her, her eyes fell on the pale skin of his inner forearm.

Her cry of surprise brought the Headmaster and Harry running in from the other room, Dumbledore with a pinch of Floo powder falling from one hand.

She stared at them, wild-eyed, and then back at the Potions master's arm, still cradled in her lap.

"The Dark Mark," she whispered in disbelief. "It's gone."

* * *

**To be continued**

_Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. Well done to everyone who guessed Harry would play a role in this chapter. I suppose the question now is, was it enough?_

_Consanguinus is my terribly bastardised Latin which translates roughly into Blood Loyalty._

_Also, thanks to Potion Mistress, who always picks up my pesky, rogue typos and beats me, er, I mean, them, into submission... :P_


	26. Blood and Magic

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 26**

"_The Dark Mark," she whispered in disbelief. "It's gone."_

"What!" Harry exclaimed.

Dumbledore didn't make a sound, but strode quickly across the room and took the Potions master's arm from her grasp, running his own gnarled hand along the smooth, bare skin of Snape's inner forearm.

"My dear boy," Dumbledore said softly. "You're finally free of him. You're finally free."

Hermione watched as the old wizard's eyes grew brighter and brighter, one lone tear spilling over to run down his cheek and disappear into the white beard. Hermione knew Snape and Dumbledore had had their differences in the past, their most recent disagreement over the Muggle school attack being only one of many. For all Snape's complaining about Dumbledore's meddling, though, she knew he thought highly of the old man, and the Headmaster of him. Hermione had seen the reluctance with which Dumbledore sent Snape back to the Voldemort each time.

They both knew the risks of answering a summons, but the consequences of ignoring one while so marked by Voldemort were even greater. Now, though, Snape was free.

"How is that possible?" Hermione asked softly. Harry, who had moved to stand beside the Headmaster, shook his head in disbelief.

"It's not possible," he said. "The Mark isn't supposed to come off. Remember what Sirius said, _it's a lifetime of service, or death_."

The Headmaster, still holding Snape's arm, continued to trace his hand up and down it, as though reassuring himself the Mark was really gone. After some minutes of silence, he finally let it drop, the limp appendage falling back into Hermione's lap.

"I think I understand why such a difficult time was had removing the dagger," Dumbledore said slowly.

Hermione and Harry both looked at one another, confused, then at the Headmaster for an explanation. The old wizard lowered himself into the chair beside the bed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Dark magic," he said, "is often described as being a living thing in and of itself. I don't agree with this description; I prefer describing it as being cognizant, or aware, if you like, but not _alive_. This theory of awareness comes from some Dark magic having the ability to seek out and recognise other magic, or other _Dark_ magic, to be specific."

"Like knows like," Hermione murmured, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Exactly, Miss Granger. The Consanguinus Blade is an implement of very strong Dark magic and, upon entering Severus' body, I believe it recognised the other Dark magic already residing within him – the Dark Mark. The magic of the dagger appears to have sought it out, so to speak. Does that make sense to you?"

Hermione nodded uncomfortably; magic with a will of its own was a disturbing thought.

Looking thoughtful, Harry said, "So that's why one of those black... _things_... was trying to crawl up my arm – to reach my scar. _That's_ got Dark magic in it, too, doesn't it?"

"A sound deduction, Harry," the Headmaster confirmed. "However, the dagger was in Severus for quite some time. I believe the delay in removing it gave the magic time to bind itself to his Mark. Consequently, when the dagger was finally removed, it tore the other Dark magic from his body, too."

"That's good, though, isn't it?" Hermione asked hesitantly. "I mean, as you said, he's free from Voldemort... but you still didn't look happy when you left the room before."

"I am overjoyed," the Headmaster said, "that we were able to successfully remove the blade. I was unhappy earlier with something the spell I cast revealed; something strange, although I think I may now understand it."

Hermione looked at Dumbledore curiously, and he continued. "The spell showed Severus' magic to be very weakened, and I now believe it may be a side effect of the removal of the Dark Mark. The Mark has been a part of Severus for so long that it has bound itself very deeply to his own magic, in much the same way as the magic of the dagger bound itself to the Mark. The removal of the Dark Mark, while good in itself, has had a negative effect on his magic, and his body must now recover from that."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Hermione asked, looking down at the Potions master. The cloth was still draped across his forehead, but the rest of his face was drenched with sweat again. Forgetting herself, she picked up the second cloth – the one she'd been about to clean the blood from his hands with – and wiped the perspiration from his cheeks. When she withdrew her hand, Harry was watching her again, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"What about phoenix tears?" Harry said suddenly.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I had Fawkes try that on the wound when Severus was first returned to us, to no avail, and there must be an open wound for the tears to be absorbed, which Severus no longer has."

"I think what he needs most of all is rest," the Headmaster continued. "Although, a Strengthening potion would not go amiss. I will have Minerva retrieve some from the Hospital Wing for him."

"Does Professor McGonagall know what has happened?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore nodded, gathering his voluminous robes about him as he rose from the chair. "Professors McGonagall and Lupin are aware of the situation. I will be informing them of this new development as soon as they are free of their classes. Can I rely on you to remain with Severus until dinner?"

Hermione nodded. She had no intention of leaving her teacher-turned-friend's side before absolutely necessary. She knew she would probably have to return to classes tomorrow, though, to avoid arousing suspicion of her absence more than to keep up with her NEWT studies.

Harry and the Headmaster left shortly after that, and Hermione moved from the bed to the chair. She didn't know how much Professor McGonagall knew about her work with Snape... or other things, for that matter. She didn't fancy having to explain the familiarity of sitting on his bed to her Head of House, and she couldn't imagine the strict Transfiguration teacher being very understanding.

She just watched Snape for some time, renewing the dampening charm on the cloth on his forehead every so often. The shadow of day-old stubble was darkening his jaw, and Hermione resisted the urge to charm it away.

She had no inclination to study, even if she had brought her schoolbooks with her, but she needed something to distract her. She stole quickly into the sitting room and retrieved _Canterbury Tales_ from Snape's extensive book collection; she'd started reading it a few weeks prior, whilst waiting for him to return from Voldemort's side one night.

Despite her worry for Snape, being near him was of some comfort, and she found herself again lost in the strange stories, stopping only to stretch her stiff muscles occasionally, and renew the charm on the cloth again.

The Potions master still showed no signs of waking when, hours later, the sound of the Floo in the sitting room caught Hermione's attention and, a moment later, the Headmaster entered the bedroom, followed by McGonagall, who was carrying a flask of milky blue liquid – standard Strengthening potion.

Dumbledore greeted Hermione quietly, and then turned to the bed, casting the same diagnostic charm as he had earlier in the day. Again, he frowned.

"What is it, Albus?" enquired McGonagall, setting the flask on the drawers on the other side of the bed from where Hermione was still seated.

"I don't quite understand it," Dumbledore said slowly. "His body seems to have weakened further."

"What?" Hermione said, jumping up from the chair and leaning over to observe Snape more closely; he didn't look any worse... but, to be fair, he didn't look any better, either. "How is that possible?"

McGonagall, too, leant over the bed, casting a different charm, which produced another set of runes to hover over the Potions master's chest.

The Transfiguration teacher looked long and hard at the runes, until Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "Forgive me, Minerva. It has been a long time since I have used that spell. Perhaps you might enlighten Miss Granger and myself as to what that means." He gestured to the fading runes.

"Hmmm," said McGonagall, frowning. "I'm not a Healer, mind you, but it appears Severus' magic has been damaged, as you surmised, and, in its efforts to repair itself, it is draining his physical strength quite severely."

"He needs the Strengthening potion, then," Hermione declared, "to allow his body to recover his magic without draining his physical strength any further."

McGonagall nodded in agreement, but the Headmaster frowned, considering the prone man again.

At length, instead of explaining his reluctance, he merely said, "Anything is worth a try."

Hermione didn't like his tone of voice.

* * *

The following morning at breakfast, Dumbledore announced, due to unforeseen circumstances, Professor Snape would no longer be teaching Potions. The announcement was met with a mixture of relief, surprise and curiosity from the student body. 

Hermione, instructed by the Headmaster to appear upset, didn't find it much of stretch as she saw Crabbe, Goyle and a couple of other students around them glance in her direction. Snape might not be dead, as the Headmaster would want the children of Death Eaters to believe, but he was far from being out of the woods. She'd been down to the Potions master's rooms briefly before breakfast, hoping to find him awake, but to no avail. He was still pale and unmoving, as he had been the previous night. The Strengthening potion, its empty flask sitting on the drawers at his bedside, didn't seem to have had any effect... yet.

"Look at Malfoy," Harry hissed, nudging her in the ribs.

Hermione's gaze travelled to the other end of the Slytherin table, where the Head Boy was sitting with the two fifth-year prefects. Though the Headmaster had ceased speaking and sat down to resume his breakfast, Malfoy was staring at the old man with an open expression of disbelief. Then, as if sensing he was being watched, he turned and locked eyes with Hermione.

Confused, she held his gaze long enough for him to register her red-rimmed eyes, and then turned to Harry.

"Strange," she murmured. "It looks like he didn't know."

Any speculation was halted, though, by the arrival of the morning post, and Hermione watched as a large, tawny owl swooped down to deposit a letter in Malfoy's lap.

"That's his father's owl," said Ron, sitting on Hermione's other side. "It's the same one that always brings him extra food from home."

The trio continued their breakfast, surreptitiously watching as Malfoy opened the envelope and withdrew a length of parchment. Even from across the hall, Hermione saw him visibly pale as his eyes flew across the missive. She saw him read it a second time and then shove it back into its envelope, tucking it quickly in a pocket of his robes.

His mouth was set in a thin line as he glanced down the table towards Crabbe, Goyle and the children of other known Death Eaters. Some of the group appeared to have received letters of their own, and were discussing them furtively amongst each other.

As Hermione turned here gaze back to Malfoy, she found him watching her again, and, just for the barest instant, she thought she saw a flicker of panic in his eyes.

The Slytherin stood abruptly, leaving his half-eaten bowl of porridge behind as he exited the Great Hall.

"Curious," Harry murmured under his breath.

Hermione furrowed her brow and looked up at the Head Table. McGonagall and the Headmaster were both watching her, the silent exchange with Malfoy not lost on either of them.

It was obvious the letter Malfoy had received was from his father, and Hermione was willing to bet it was a first-hand account of whatever had occurred the previous night, when Snape was summoned. But what about the situation had Malfoy looking so uneasy? Was it the shock of his Head of House turning out to be a traitor to the cause his family followed? Or was Malfoy truly undecided about where to place his loyalties – as Snape had suggested, and realised only too late that the Potions master would have helped him, not turned him over to the Dark Lord as a weakling.

If that were the case, would Malfoy go to Dumbledore now? If he did, how could the Headmaster be sure of his true motives?

_He couldn't_, Hermione thought. _Not for sure_. Intriguing as the Slytherin's actions were becoming, there was no way of knowing it wasn't part of a plan by his father, or even Voldemort, to infiltrate the Order with another spy.

If Draco Malfoy wanted out of whatever situation he had gotten himself into, _he_ would have to make the first move.

* * *

Three days later, it was clear the Strengthening potions were not helping Snape, and Hermione was at her wits end. 

She had been spending every waking hour outside of class with the Potions master, or in the library, looking for even the smallest mention of what might be ailing him.

Between herself, the Headmaster, and Professors McGonagall and Lupin, they had worked out a rough roster of watching over Snape, so that he was never left alone.

After lunch on Sunday, following an exhausting yet fruitless morning in the library, Hermione Flooed to Snape's quarters from the Headmaster's office. She'd all but given up on finding him awake when she entered his bedroom, and today was no exception. Lupin greeted her quietly, gathering up the pile of books he was working his way through, trying to find something that might help the Potions master.

The Defence teacher had been looking increasingly worried as each day went by with no improvement in Snape's condition. Hermione didn't doubt his concern for the man's wellbeing was genuine, but as she sat in Snape's bedroom the previous night, the heavy drapes open to gaze out over the frosty Hogwarts grounds, she realised another reason why Lupin was so worried.

The dark of the moon had just passed and the moon was waxing, each night drawing it closer to the full moon that triggered the Defence teacher's transformation... and the only person who could brew the potion to sedate him during that time was Snape.

She made a mental note to mention it to the Headmaster, who had likely been too preoccupied to notice the phase of the moon. Snape had told Hermione she would have to brew the potion if he wasn't able, and while she wasn't completely confident, she would do her best. Dumbledore wouldn't want another teacher – and Order member – out of action.

"Dumbledore will be here around nine, Hermione," Lupin said. "Would you like me to have something brought up from the kitchens for your tea?"

"No, but thank you, Professor," she said. "I'm sure I'll be fine. Did you find anything in your books?"

"No." the Defence teacher shook his head. "I'll keep looking, though."

"As will I," Hermione said softly.

Lupin left, and Hermione dropped her bag on the floor, again taking up residence in the chair by the bed and gazing at the Potions master.

Someone, presumably McGonagall, had exchanged the dark blue sheet for a plain white one, which was drawn up under Snape's arms. The stark white fabric looked foreign draped over his thin body, the sickly pallor of his skin accentuated by its brightness.

Sweat was beading across his forehead again, and shining on the rest of his face in the soft light. She'd given up on wiping it away, knowing it would return after a few minutes, anyway.

The stillness of his body was deceiving, concealing a terrible internal struggle as he fought to recover from the Dark magic that had sought to drain him of his own magic and his life.

Hermione only hoped he had the strength and willpower to overcome it. He'd been resigned to death, not daring to believe even Harry could save him. Did he realise now, in his unconscious state, that he had been freed from the magical geas that had bound him for twenty years? Was that freedom not worth fighting for?

_It's all up to you, now, Severus,_ she thought. There was nothing she or anyone else could do for him now... nothing but wait, watch and hope.

Sighing, she opened her book bag and withdrew one of the ancient Dark magic tomes she's brought from the Restricted Section of the library. The Headmaster had instructed Madam Pince that Hermione was doing a special project for him, and should be given unlimited access to all available resources. Still, the dour librarian had pinched her lips together in a thin line of clear disapproval as she had checked out Hermione's collection. The books were full of Dark magic, both theory and practice; they were both fascinating and disturbing, but so far useless in the current predicament.

She became lost in her reading, and the next thing she knew, the Headmaster was stepping quietly through the door.

"No change, then," Dumbledore murmured softly, moving to the opposite side of the bed from Hermione. He reached out a wrinkled hand and rested the back of it lightly on the Potions master's forehead for a moment.

Hermione hated the look in the Headmaster's eyes as he watched Snape. It was the same look he'd worn when he'd brought her to the Potions master's rooms the morning Snape was returned; resignation and defeat. Hermione refused to give up, but she'd be a fool not to admit it was looking grim.

* * *

On Monday afternoon, following her last class of the day, Hermione took advantage of the last of the afternoon sunlight to walk to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to gather some fresh valerian roots for the Wolfsbane potion. 

She had mentioned the approaching full moon the Headmaster the previous night, and he had agreed that she should begin preparing for the brew. Although it didn't need to be ready for another four days, and only took several hours to brew, the valerian roots had to soak in salt water for at least two days before being added to the potion.

The valerian plant grew at the base of trees, spreading out along the ground and displaying tiny lilac flowers during the spring. Hermione was glad the plant preferred some sunlight, and therefore didn't grow deep in the forest like some other potions ingredients.

Locating a thick clump of the plant, Hermione knelt, lowering her bag carefully to the ground, as it was filled with tiny phials. Each root she harvested had to be separated, and Snape had taught her that the phials were the best way to keep them intact.

Pulling a small knife from the bag, she set about her work.

She had retrieved three roots when a sound in a forest behind her caught her attention; she spun around on her haunches to see the moonfilly emerging from the shadows of the trees. She stared in disbelief at the creature; Snape had taken her deep into the Forest to find it, and Hermione knew the creature shied away from human contact whenever possible. What had driven it so close to the school this evening?

It stepped cautiously over to Hermione, watching her with its big, bright eyes, and she knelt on the ground as it came close enough to touch.

"Hello," she said softly. "What are you doing so far from your home?"

The moonfilly nuzzled her robes softly, searching out her pockets.

"I'm sorry, I haven't got anything for you," she said.

The creature took a step back and looked at her with what could only be described as a questioning gaze. It had no real voice, and Hermione didn't know enough conversational Latin to speak with it as Snape had, but the question in the bright eyes was clear.

"Severus can't come to see you," she said softly, and the creature nickered, perhaps recognising the Potions master's name. "He's sick; he might be dying. I don't know... I don't know what to do," she finished in a whisper, her throat suddenly feeling tight.

The tiny creature lowered its head and nuzzled her hand. Hermione couldn't hold back her tears, the sympathetic action of the little animal bringing forth all the despair and helplessness she had felt these past few days.

She bowed her own head, her shoulders shaking as tears poured silently down her face. "I don't know what to do," she sobbed.

She started slightly as she felt a soft nose on her cheek, and the moonfilly snuffled at her tears. She remembered reading in Snape's book that moonfillies could sense pain, and although she couldn't communicate with it, maybe the tiny creature could understand what she was feeling.

"What can I do?" she whispered, and opened her eyes to find the moonfilly watching her. As she met its gaze, the creature ducked its head to her sleeve, tugging on the hand still holding her knife.

She stared at it, and the moonfilly did it again, pulling harder.

"I don't understand what you're trying to tell me," she said softly, confused.

The creature pushed its head in under her hand, almost causing her to drop the knife.

"Careful," she said, lifting her hand away. "That knife is sharp."

The moonfilly whinnied and continued to nudge her.

"Don't be silly, you'll cut-"

Hermione's eyes widened, and she stared at the creature as it snorted and stepped back suddenly, as if sensing it had finally been understood.

She remembered Snape's words from months ago, _"…a promise never to ask for the other gifts a moonfilly carries_."

"No," she said, looking at the tiny creature. "I can't. He promised never to take that from you."

The moonfilly nudged her again, impatiently.

"I can't," she said again, desperately. "He said he would never ask. I can't betray that... or him."

The moonfilly shook its mane, and the thought entered Hermione's mind that she wasn't asking for the creature's blood; it was being offered freely. She remembered briefly skimming the section of the moonfilly book on blood, and reading of its potency as a healing means. In truth, though, she'd paid that section little attention due to Snape's promise to the creature.

Even though it was a rare, prized healing ingredient, used both alone and in some of the most powerful healing potions known to wizard-kind, it was so rarely obtainable that the potions were hardly spoken of in modern books. If taken by force, the blood became a deadly poison.

But here it was, being offered freely.

Could it heal the Potions master where all else had failed?

She looked at the creature again, its bright eyes watching her expectantly.

"Are you sure?" she asked nervously. It tossed its head in a way Hermione could almost construe as a nod, but still she hesitated.

"Severus isn't going to like this. He'll feel as though he's betrayed your trust in him." Even as she spoke, though, Hermione thought Snape could be as angry as he liked, if it saved his life.

The moonfilly snorted and nudged the bag beside Hermione. The empty phials she'd brought to collect the valerian clinked loudly in the stillness of the evening.

The sun had set, and the moon had risen, but it was only a tiny sliver in the sky, casting very little light in the shadows of the ancient trees on the edge of the forest.

Hermione put her hand in the bag and withdrew the smallest phial, barely the size of her pinky finger. The moonfilly eyed it in seeming approval, and again nosed her other hand, which was still holding the knife.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"If you're sure…"

In response, the creature lifted its left front leg and placed the hoof in Hermione's lap, nosing a spot just above the first, bony joint.

It watched her with trusting eyes as, biting her lip in concentration, she lifted the knife and made the smallest possible incision in the creature's skin. She withdrew the knife as soon as she saw a hint of red, and squeezed the edges of the cut slightly to cause the blood to well out.

Exchanging the knife for the phial, she unstoppered it and pressed it against the wound, allowing the blood to trickle slowly into the container. It only took a minute to fill, and she removed it, stoppering it quickly.

Turning her eyes back to the moonfilly, she meant to withdraw her wand and heal the cut when she realised it had already healed itself. She blinked in surprise, and the creature whinnied, looking at the phial still clutched in Hermione's hand.

"If this works," she said softly, "I don't know how he or I will ever be able to thank you."

The moonfilly tossed its head again, nuzzled Hermione's free hand, and then gambolled quickly off into the darkness under the trees.

Ignoring the six empty phials still in her bag, Hermione jumped up, gathered the knife and bag, and hastened back to the castle, overcome by a sudden sense of urgency. This would work; she knew it would. It had to.

She met Lupin at the stone gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office, and rushed ahead of him up the spiral staircase.

"Hermione, wait! What's wrong?" he called after her.

"There's no time," she said, as she entered the round office. The room was empty, but she went straight to the fireplace, grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, and called out, "Snape's quarters!"

The Potions master's sitting room was empty, too, and Hermione grabbed his copy of the _Moonfillies_ book from the shelf and opened the bedroom door just as Lupin emerged from the fireplace, saying, "Hermione, what is happening?"

Dumbledore and McGonagall were both by Snape's bedside, and looked up as Hermione entered the room. The Headmaster looked more drawn and tired than ever, and Hermione noticed McGonagall's eyes were slightly red. The sudden horrifying thought that she was too late hit her, and she rushed forwards to the end of the bed.

She hadn't seen the Potions master since the previous night, and now, the rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheet was almost imperceptible. His face had taken on a sickly grey pallor and that, combined with the grave looks on her teachers' faces, told her she was only just in time.

"Headmaster," she said, flipping the pages of the book quickly to find the chapter on blood. "I think I've found something to help him."

Dumbledore glanced across the bed to where McGonagall was standing, then to Lupin, who had moved to stand next to the Transfiguration teacher.

"Miss Granger, I'm afraid we have done all we can," the Headmaster said sorrowfully. "As much as it pains me to admit it, it is not enough."

"Just read it," she said, extending the open page to him, refusing to believe there wasn't still a chance. "Aloud."

The Headmaster eyed her for a moment, but then cleared his throat and read from the open page.

"_The blood of the moonfilly is the most potent healing agent known to wizard-kind, even more powerful than the fabled phoenix tears. However, it is not widely used in medicinal magic because it is considered all but unobtainable by the common witch or wizard, whom moonfillies will actively avoid. Only when freely offered by the creature does the moonfilly's blood possess healing properties. The taking of blood trickery or force will deliver only a deadly poison into the taker's hands."_

McGonagall and Lupin looked from Dumbledore to Hermione, mildly confused. The Headmaster closed the book carefully and regarded Hermione again.

"Miss Granger," he said seriously. "For all that I would like to hope this is a possibility, Severus made a promise to the creature in the forest never to ask for its blood or hair. He would not break that promise, even with his life at stake."

"He didn't have to ask", Hermione said, holding up the phial of viscous blood. "It was given to me."

Dumbledore stared at the phial in amazement.

"It was given freely?" he asked cautiously.

Hermione nodded. She quickly explain what had happened in the forest, finishing softly, "I couldn't refuse once I understood. It might be the only thing that can save him now."

"Indeed," murmured Dumbledore, still staring at the phial in her hand, its contents almost black in the low light of the room.

"Well, Albus," McGonagall said from across the room. "Will it work?"

"I think it might," he said slowly, and this time – for the first time in days – the old man's voice was filled with hope, not despair. "In all my years, I have never seen moonfilly blood, but its healing properties, as the book says, are legendary. We must try it, and if this does not work…

There was no need for Dumbledore to finish his sentence. Snape's ailing appearance was enough that everyone in the room knew this was the last stand to save his life. If this – the most powerful healing agent in the world – did not work, nothing would.

"Let us make haste to try it, then," said McGonagall urgently. "We haven't much time."

Hermione glanced down at the Potions master again. Even in the five minutes since she's entered the room, his skin had grown greyer still, dark circles under his eyes appearing like purple smudges on the pale skin.

"Can we magic it into his stomach?" McGonagall asked, looking to Dumbledore. Hermione and her Head of House had both been using that method to deliver the Strengthening potion to Snape, it being easier than forcing the liquid down the unconscious man's throat.

Dumbledore shook his head, appearing to think the matter over. "I believe," he said, "that this should be done with no magic, if possible. The blood is magical in itself, and I am reluctant to interfere with that, in case it decreases its potency…"

The Headmaster trailed off uncertainly, and Hermione frowned, thinking back to her Medicinal Magic classes. As well as magical first aid, Madam Pomfrey has also taught them several practices she'd picked up from a Muggle-born acquaintance in the field, and Hermione saw she might have use for one of them now.

"I think I can get him to swallow it," she said, "but I need someone to, er, raise his body a little, so it goes down more easily."

"Allow me," said McGonagall, and surprised Hermione by promptly sitting herself on the bed next to Snape, and pulling the limp Potions master up to rest against her, his head resting in the crook of her arm.

"Is this all right, Miss Granger?" she asked, and, noting Hermione's incredulous look, added, "Well, what did you expect me to do?"

"Transfigure some more pillows to prop him up?" Hermione offered, smiling a little.

"That's a little impersonal," McGonagall replied. "There is a time and place for transfiguration, and I don't believe this is it."

Hermione nodded and climbed onto the bed, too, kneeling beside Snape. Lupin and the Headmaster stood silently, watching as Hermione gently tilted Snape's head back a little more. He was hot to touch, still burning with fever. McGonagall adjusted her hold to support his head again, and Hermione unstoppered the phial of blood.

She studied the Potions master's pale face for a moment, praying to whatever deity, Muggle or wizard, who might be listening that it would work.

Parting his soft, dry lips with her fingertips, she put the phial to them and tipped it carefully, allowing the liquid to trickle slowly into his mouth. With her other hand, she gently massaged his throat, triggering his swallowing reflex to draw the liquid into his body.

She continued until the tiny phial was empty.

"What happens now?" she asked Dumbledore, as McGonagall carefully lowered Snape back onto the pillows and stood up from her position on the bed.

"Now," the old wizard said, "we wait."

After a moment of silence, in which Hermione made no attempt to remove herself from next to Snape, McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "Perhaps Remus and I should put in an appearance at dinner."

The Defence teacher, who had been watching the proceedings silently, nodded in agreement, adding, "It would look suspicious if we were all absent."

"I might even go down for a spot to eat myself," the Headmaster commented. "I doubt the blood will have an immediate effect. Miss Granger, would you object to us leaving you here for an hour or so?"

"No, that's fine," Hermione said. It was her designated turn to stay with the Potions master, anyway.

"Very well," said the Headmaster, glancing down at Snape. "I do hope we will see some improvement soon."

The three teachers left the room, Lupin giving Hermione an encouraging smile as he closed the room.

She returned it, and then climbed off the bed as the door closed, pulling the sheet up over Snape's chest again; it had slipped down when they'd propped him up to swallow the blood. The scar from the knife was still there, she noticed, but – she lay a hand on his forehead to be sure – he was no longer sweating profusely. Was it a coincidence, or an effect of the moonfilly's gift?

She let her hand trail down the side of his face to find the pulse point at his neck. No, it wasn't her imagination; a strong and steady cadence throbbed under her fingers for the first time in almost a week.

Hermione's knees suddenly felt weak with relief, and she was glad for the chair behind her as she stumbled back and all but fell into it.

He was going to live.

She had assumed as much when he was still alive after the dagger had been removed, but the past five days had taught her not to take anything for granted. Now, though, she _knew_ he was going to live. She could feel it, and, looking at his face, she could see it.

Already, his pale skin had lost the sickly, grey appearance, and while the tired, dark circles under his eyes remained, his whole demeanour gave the impression of a sleeping man, not one unconscious and close to death.

Hermione found herself smiling – _really_ smiling – for the first time in days, and she leant forwards to rest her hand on top of his own; it was soft and warm to the touch.

The curtains across the room were open again, and she could see the dark blur of the Forbidden Forest beside the lake. She sent a silent thanks to the tiny creature somewhere deep amongst the trees.

At that moment, a whispered voice, hoarse from disuse, reached her ears.

"Hermione."

* * *

**To be continued**

_Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. Updates will probably be around ten days apart, rather than weekly, now that I'm back at uni._

_Many thanks to Keladry Lupin for her comments and thoughts on this chapter, and on the story as a whole._

_ Do I still need to mention the next chapter is posted at OWL? No? Right. owl dot tauri dot org.  
_


	27. Missing

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 27**

At the sound of Snape's voice, Hermione's eyes snapped to his face. He'd turned his head slightly, his eyes half-open and dull with fatigue as they focused on her. Hermione rose quickly from her chair, gripping his hand a little tighter as she leant over the bed.

"Welcome back," she said softly, unable to stop herself from reaching out with her free hand to brush back a stray lock of hair that had fallen in his eyes when he'd moved his head.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but the dryness of his throat wouldn't permit it and he coughed instead.

"Would you like some water?" she asked, and he nodded after trying unsuccessfully again to clear his throat and voice his answer.

She straightened, releasing her grip on his hand, and withdrew her wand. Turning towards the open bathroom door, she called, "_Accio_ glass!"

A small tumbler smacked into her hand a moment later, and she directed the tip of her wand into the glass and murmured, "_Aguamenti." _

Snape, in the meantime, had tried to raise himself up his elbows to accept the water, but his arms were weak and shaking, and he fell back onto the pillows with a grunt of frustration.

Hermione noticed that despite the moonfilly blood having an obviously positive effect on him, he still wasn't one hundred percent well, as she had expected him to be.

"Just take it easy for a while," she cautioned, trying to avoid sounding too motherly, knowing how he would despise being mollycoddled, even in his weakened state. "Let me help you."

He coughed again, but didn't protest when she rearranged the pillows a little awkwardly to prop him up a little, then sat on the edge of the bed and snaked her hand behind his head, helping to steady it as she raised the glass to his lips. During the several moments in which she tipped the cool liquid into his mouth, she was reminded of the last time she'd helped him drink – when he'd returned from Voldemort after having been forced to drink the Cruciatus potion. It seemed like years ago, considering all that had happened between them since then, though in reality it had been a little less than six weeks ago.

Snape made to pull away when the glass was half-empty, and she removed it, withdrawing her hand from behind his head, too. He relaxed into the pillows with a sigh and closed his eyes as she set the glass on the drawers beside the bed.

She stayed where she was, perched carefully on the edge of the bed, and studied his face. There were still dark circles under his eyes, but his skin looked almost normal again, pale as it was, a hint of stubble shadowing his cheeks even though McGonagall had made a habit of spelling away the growth each morning.

After a short time, he eyes opened again and cleared his throat, managing to croak, "So, it would seem I'm alive, after all."

She nodded, folding her hands in her lap and looking down at them.

"You gave us quite a scare, you know," she said quietly.

"How long have I been here?" he asked, and she could feel his eyes on her face.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and met his gaze. "Almost a week."

"A week?" He stared at her in disbelief as she nodded. His left arm was at his side, under the sheet, and after a minute he moved it across his chest, probing the spot where the knife had entered his body. She saw the outline of his hand move along the thin line that marked all that was left of the ordeal.

"It worked," he said finally, still fingering the scar. "It recognised Potter; I should have been fine."

"Yes, you should have," she replied, hesitantly adding, "but it didn't work quite the way Professor Dumbledore expected."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked away from him. Even if she could find the words to tell him the Dark Mark was gone, she didn't feel it was her place. True, she'd been the one to think of Harry as a means to save him, but after seeing Dumbledore's reaction to Snape's unmarred arm she felt the older wizard had the right to break the news – or at least be present when Snape was told.

She wondered if it felt any different, and whether Snape would notice of his own accord before they had a chance to tell him. Of course he would, given time, but his left arm was still hidden under the sheet at the moment.

"Hermione?"

His voice jolted her from her reverie, and she realised he was still waiting for a response to his question.

"I, uh," she faltered. "We're not exactly sure what happened after the blade came out... Do you remember anything?"

"No, I..." He frowned in thought. "I remember Potter taking hold of it, but then… nothing."

She nodded. Some part of her was glad that he didn't remember what had come afterwards, though she didn't think she'd ever forget his agonised screams, or the way his clawing nails left bloody gouges in his own skin.

Just recalling what had happened brought back the terror of the unknown magic, and she hardly realised she was crying until she felt a slightly roughened hand touch the wetness on her cheek.

She looked up, startled, to find him watching her with a pained expression.

"I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed, as she pushed his hand away and wiped self-consciously at the tears herself.

"No, I'm sorry," he said gravely. "I seem to be the cause of much of your distress, lately."

The sob of relief that had been gathering in her throat ever since he'd opened his eyes broke forth, turning into a half-choked laugh.

He looked at her in surprise, and she shook her head.

"No, it's not you... well, it is, but..." She knew she was babbling and took a deep breath. "It's just been a little overwhelming, to think that you were going to... and then to find a way to save you only for it not to work as it should have, and then this… this _waiting_."

He was watching her with a mixture of worry and wariness, as if she might break down at any moment, and she realised, not for the first time, that words weren't always adequate.

"I'm just glad you're okay," she said, and before he could respond she leant forwards, snaking her hands behind his bare back to embrace him tightly.

It was a rather awkward pose; she was perched on the edge of the bed, leaning over his half-raised body with her arms trapped between the warmth of his back and the coolness of the pillows. She didn't mind though, and neither did Snape, so it seemed.

He sighed, his breath close to her ear, and shifted slightly so he could wrap his free arm around her back, moving it in small, slow circles between her shoulder blades. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his earthy scent that she'd first thought was a result of all the potions ingredients he worked with. Even now, though, after a week away from his art, it still clung about him.

When she finally drew back, albeit reluctantly, the hand on her back lingered for a moment before dropping back to rest on the bed near where she sat. There was no trace of the awkwardness that had accompanied the aftermath of their scant few previous embraces, and Snape's eyes held a warmth of understanding she knew was mirrored in her own.

Far too much had passed between them – unspoken – when faced with the prospect of death than either of them could deny, and she, for one, didn't want to.

Hermione fleetingly wondered where Dumbledore's warning and Snape's decree of 'not yet' would stand now, given the circumstances. The Headmaster has made it clear through his announcement to the school last week that Snape would no longer be teaching. Whether Dumbledore had made the announcement assuming Snape was going to die, or for some other reason, was another matter.

If it were made known that Snape had survived, it would be suicide for him to venture beyond Hogwarts. Voldemort wouldn't make the mistake allowing him to leave his presence alive again.

Hermione had learnt never to try to second-guess the Headmaster, but all his actions so far – especially the secrecy, even within the Order – pointed to him letting everyone assume Snape _was_ dead.

Pushing aside the selfish hope a student-teacher relationship no longer being a problem, and the thought of Snape's reaction to being forced to 'play dead' for an indeterminate amount of time, she turned her attention back to the man in front of her.

She realised he'd been watching her while she was deep in thought, and blushed, wondering if he knew what she'd been thinking. She saw him unsuccessfully try to stifle a yawn, and realised how exhausted he still looked, cursing herself for not noticing earlier.

She stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from the sheet, and said, "You should get some rest. Dumbledore will be here soon, and I'd imagine he has a lot to speak with you about."

It was a mark of how tired Snape was that he didn't protest, merely nodding and closing his eyes, their short discussion already having worn him out.

The same, errant lock of hair had fallen in his face, still turned slightly in her direction, and she reached out to brush it aside again. His eyes remained closed and, on impulse, she leant down once more and pressed her lips to his forehead in a feather-light kiss. His skin was warm and smooth.

As she drew back, his even breathing gave away the fact that he had already fallen asleep.

Exiting the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her, she realised it was the first time in a week she had been able to leave without fearing for what she would find when she returned. It was like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she felt she could actually turn her attention to other things without fear of maudlin distraction.

All her teachers and many of her classmates had noticed her troubled nature in the past week, but thankfully no one, with the exception of a few Slytherins, had made the connection between that and the mysterious disappearance of the Potions master. Judging from their snide comments, the Slytherins were confident the traitor was dead, but most students, unaware of both the Order and Snape's role in the organisation, were just glad they no longer had lessons with the Head of Slytherin, and didn't care to dwell on why he was no longer teaching.

She knew Dumbledore was glad the speculation was at a minimum, but it was a discomforting realisation that none of the students cared what had happened to someone who was a part of their daily lives, welcome or not.

She made her way across the sitting room and withdrew her wand, touching it to the handle of the lab door to unward it. In the past months working with Snape, he'd taken to leaving the door between the lab and his private quarters open more often than not while she was there. Since last week, though, and them learning Pettigrew had somehow gained access to the room, the door had remained firmly locked and warded at all times.

McGonagall and Dumbledore had added a host of new wards to the room, and the school as a whole, including the Animagus detection charms the Transfiguration teacher had been working on with the Ministry of Magic. Both teachers had assured Hermione she was perfectly safe working in the room now, but she still found herself looking uneasily over her shoulder at the slightest noise in the quiet lab.

Looking at the moon cycle chart above Snape's cluttered desk, Hermione realised it was a good thing she _was_ above distraction tonight. Professor Lupin would need to start taking the Wolfsbane Potion in the next twenty-four hours if he were to avoid the effects of the approaching full moon.

She gathered the ingredients she would need from the cupboards and set about chopping, mashing and grinding, trying to maintain a balance between the speed and accuracy with which she'd seen Snape make the same preparations. Her own skills were good, but no match for a well-practised Master.

She still didn't feel completely confident in making the Potion but, even with Snape almost recovered, she didn't think he'd be in any shape to be standing over a cauldron for hours at a time in the immediate future, so she would do the best she could.

It was strange, she mused, given the potency of the moonfilly blood, that he wasn't one hundred percent recovered. She wondered, curious and a little frightened, at the strength the Dark magic possessed to be able diminish the effects of the most powerful healing substance known to wizard-kind.

About half an hour into her ingredient preparation, she heard a whoosh from the Floo in the sitting room and, a moment later, the Headmaster appeared at the lab door.

"Ah, Miss Granger," he said. "I take it Severus is awake, then?"

She set down her knife and stared at the omniscient old man. "Yes, but how did you-?"

Dumbledore chuckled, a twinkle present in his eyes that she had never thought she'd miss seeing until its absence this past week.

"I don't imagine you would have left his side were you not confident in his wellbeing," the Headmaster said, and she blushed.

"Well," she said defensively, gesturing to the ingredients spread out in front of her, "Professor Lupin needs the Wolfsbane tonight, so I couldn't leave it any longer to begin making it."

"Of course, of course," the Headmaster murmured, moving across the room and sitting opposite her as she resumed her work. "How is Severus?"

"He'll be all right," she said. "He's asleep again, and... he doesn't know about the Mark yet."

Dumbledore looked at her curiously, and she took a deep breath, scraping the last of the shrivelfig from the mortar into a dish.

"I just couldn't tell him," she explained. "I didn't know how to, aside from the fact it's not my place to do so."

"Not your place?" Dumbledore said, surprised. "Miss Granger, it is only through your brilliant idea that Severus is free of the Mark, not to mention alive at all."

"I know," she said quietly. "I just thought... I think you should be the one to tell him."

The Headmaster eyed her oddly for a moment, but then nodded appreciatively. At that instant, however, a loud exclamation reached their ears from the other room, a cry of surprise, shock and even fear. Dumbledore sprang to his feet, surprisingly agile for his age, and rushed from the lab to the sitting room, Hermione close on his heels. Pushing open the bedroom door with a bang, they stopped, both looking at Snape who, despite their entrance, had paid them no mind.

He was sitting up on the edge of the bed, bare-chested, the bedclothes flung aside. His right arm was holding his left in a deadly tight grip, and he was staring at the pale, unmarked skin of his upturned inner forearm.

_That solved the problem of who should tell him_, Hermione thought. Detachedly, she noticed the black pants he was wearing weren't the ones he'd returned to Hogwarts in last week, but soft, cotton sleep pants. She wondered how he'd come to be clad in them, and felt an odd and altogether inappropriate flash of jealousy at the thought of McGonagall changing him, even though she had most likely used a charm.

Neither Hermione nor Dumbledore advanced any further into the room, both watching Snape with a mixture of apprehension and relief.

As they watched, he rubbed the thumb of his right hand across the skin, each stroke becoming more vigorous, as though he sought to remove some trick or charm that was deceiving him. When the rubbing turned to scratching, and then clawing, Hermione moved past the Headmaster, cautiously approaching Snape.

By the time she reached Snape's side, there were bright red nail marks in the skin of his arm, and she closed her hand over his, stalling the movement.

He looked up at her, seeming startled to even find her in the room, but then his eyes took on a completely uncharacteristic pleading look as he said in a hoarse voice, "Make it go away."

She frowned in confusion, pulling her hand and his away from his arm to again reveal the unmarked skin.

"Make what go away?" she asked softly.

"This," he said, holding his arm out a little. "This... concealment, this charm, whatever is covering it up."

"There is no charm, my boy," Dumbledore said, finally stepping further into the room to stand in front of the Potions master. "Tom's Mark is gone."

"I-" Snape looked at Hermione again, confusion and disbelief evident in his expression.

"It's true," she said, releasing his hand with a small squeeze.

"You're free, Severus," Dumbledore added softly.

Snape stared at Headmaster for a long moment before dropping his gaze back to his arm, and Hermione saw him swallow thickly. He brought his other hand up to trace the skin again, the slightly reddened scratches from his earlier ministrations the only contrast on the pale skin.

"I-" He broke off again, his hoarse voice catching in his throat as he raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes. In the next moment, he leant forwards to prop his elbows on his knees, bringing his face to rest in both hands. Hermione looked to the Headmaster, whose too-bright eyes were fixed on the Potions master. Looking back at Snape, his head still bowed, she saw his shoulders were shaking, and she realised with a start that he was crying; silent, heaving sobs of what could only be relief were wracking his thin frame at the realisation he was finally free of the bonds of his twenty-year-old mistake.

She made to reach out to him, but was stopped with a hand on her shoulder, and realised Dumbledore had moved to stand beside her.

"Come, Miss Granger," he said softly, taking her by the arm and leading her, confused, to the bedroom door. She glanced back at Snape as she was ushered out, still sitting with his head in his hands.

Dumbledore shut the door quietly behind them and turned to her.

"I think," he began, his own voice a little hoarser than usual, "that Severus needs some time alone to contemplate this discovery."

"Alone? Is that wise?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Surely he'll want to know how it came about, and..."

"I believe that explanation can wait a while," Dumbledore assured her. "I think Severus has enough to absorb at the moment. I have much to discuss with him, but I think tomorrow will suffice."

Hermione frowned a little, but nodded her acceptance of the Headmaster's wishes.

"I suppose I should get back to making the potion for Professor Lupin," she said, glad she at least had some excuse to stay nearby for a little while longer, in case Snape did want to seek an explanation tonight.

"Yes," he said, "and I shall inform Professors McGonagall and Lupin of the good news. I must thank you, Miss Granger, for all you have done this past week, and longer. It is not only Severus and Professor Lupin that are grateful for your assistance."

"Thank you, sir," she said with a small smile, and turned to go into the lab. As she reached to door, the Headmaster's voice stopped her, and she turned to where he was standing by the fireplace, a pinch of Floo in his hand.

"Miss Granger, if Severus does come seeking further explanation tonight, I would ask that you don't mention any other means we may have used to save his life beyond the removal of the dagger."

Dumbledore was watching her gravely, and she frowned. She knew what the Headmaster was referring to, and although she suspected Snape would be livid at the use of the moonfilly blood to save him, she still didn't like keeping the truth of the matter from him.

"For now," Dumbledore amended, seeing her hesitation. "Allow me to explain it to Severus when the time is right."

She nodded, then, and the Headmaster Flooed back to his own office while she went back to the lab.

Three or so hours later, having completed the potion to her satisfaction and bottled all but a goblet-full, she looked around the lab, making sure everything was clean and returned to its proper place. The copper goblet was sitting the edge of the bench nearest the door, awaiting delivery to the Defence professor, and she picked it up and left the lab, closing the door behind her and watching for a moment until she saw the dull blue shimmer of the wards.

Hesitating, she looked from the smoking goblet in her hands to the closed bedroom door. She'd not heard a sound from the room since she and Dumbledore had left it earlier, and it both worried and comforted her in equal degrees. Perhaps Snape was resting, exhausted after the physical drain of the last week, or perhaps he was still sitting where they'd left him, unsure of how to deal with the shock of being both alive and free.

She looked at the goblet again. It was freshly brewed; it wouldn't hurt to delay its delivery by a few minutes.

She set it down on the coffee table and walked slowly over to the bedroom door. She knocked softly and a moment later, after no response and no sound from within, she cracked the door open just enough to peer inside.

"Severus?" she called softly, spotting his prone form on the bed, the torches on the wall still lit as they had been earlier. He didn't answer and appeared to be asleep, but she crept fully into the room and up to the bed, just to make sure.

He was lying on his side, his right arm gripping his left forearm tightly again, as though he was trying to stop the Mark creeping back onto his skin during his slumber. He was on top of the rumpled sheet, giving the impression he'd fallen asleep without purposely going to bed. The light red line of the knife scar was visible under his bony ribcage, and she had to resist the urge to reach out and touch it. _What is it about scars?_ she thought, recalling the time she'd so curiously uncovered the clawed marks of the werewolf, now hidden on the other side of his body.

She looked at his face, half-obscured by his hair, but there seemed to be no trace of his earlier distress. He looked calm, but as she watched she saw a slight shiver run through his body. She touched his arm lightly with the back of her hand and realised he was cold to the touch. Spotting the dark blue comforter folded over the end of the bed, she retrieved it and draped it over him carefully. In his exhaustion, he didn't even stir.

Dampening all the one of the torches with a flick of her wand and a murmured spell, she left him to rest, again feeling the same sense of relief at knowing he was, for the most part, safe and well.

She Flooed through to the Headmaster's office, which was empty, and then made her way to the Defence classroom and Professor Lupin's office, hoping it would still be there at such a late hour; it was almost midnight.

"Hermione!" said Lupin, ushering her in the moment he opened the door. "I was hoping I'd be seeing you tonight."

She smiled, handing him the goblet when he sat at his desk, gesturing for her to take the opposite seat.

"I'm afraid it may not be quite the potency of Severus' brew," she said apologetically as he raised the goblet and sniffed its contents. The Defence teacher had seen enough of her interaction with the Potions master in the last week not to question her familiar use of his name.

"I'm sure it will be perfect. I'm lucky to have someone else who can brew it," he said, and proceeded to drink it down quickly. Setting the empty goblet on the table a moment later, he added with a small chuckle, "It certainly tastes the same."

"I shouldn't have to make it much longer, anyway," she commented. "Has Professor Dumbledore spoken to you tonight?"

Lupin nodded. "About Severus? Yes, that's good news, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded, too, murmuring, "I was beginning to wonder if it would ever be good news."

Lupin fixed her with a contemplative look. "It was looking grim for a while," he agreed. "Severus is lucky to have a friend like you; you've saved his life twice in the past week, not to mention all the help you've been to him these past months."

"I wouldn't call it saving his life so much as being the right place at the right time," she said honestly, "but I consider myself lucky to be able to call him a friend, too."

The Defence teacher chuckled. "That is a privilege very few can claim."

"I know," she said quietly, the mood suddenly serious again.

"How did he take the disappearance of the Dark Mark?" Lupin asked after a moment.

Hermione swallowed. "Not well," she said. "He didn't... I think he was almost afraid to believe it had gone."

Lupin nodded. "I can imagine he would be quite shocked, having lived with it for so long. Its absence, though welcome, will take some getting used to."

Hermione watched the Defence professor carefully, a pensive look on his face as he gazed at a spot somewhere above and to the left of where she was sitting.

"Almost like being cured of lycanthropy," she said quietly, realising the soft-spoken teacher knew exactly what it was like to be trapped in a life that so often spun out of his control.

"Quite," he said agreeably. "I'm fortunate to have temporary relief from my affliction in the form of the potion, though. I wouldn't dare hope for a permanent cure such as Severus has received."

"It's only a matter of time until someone finds one," she mused. "The potion may only be temporary, but it's a step towards a permanent cure."

"Ten points to Gryffindor for optimism," he said with a smile, which she returned. After a moment of silence, he added, "And don't let yourself worry about Severus. I daresay you've done enough of that lately. He just needs some time to come to terms with his newfound freedom; it may take some getting used to after all these years."

Hermione nodded. Lupin's advice made sense, coming from perhaps the person closest to being able to understand Snape's situation, though she wondered just how much freedom Snape would find himself with, once Dumbledore had his say in the matter.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Note: Thanks, as always, to everyone who has read and reviewed! I do respond to them all, so if you've left a review asking a question, take a moment to read my response!_

_Aguamenti is canon, from HBP, and conjures clear water into an existing container._

_This chapter is a little shorter (like, a few thousand words – lol) than the previous few, but chapter length throughout the whole fic is pretty erratic – I just stop where it feels right to break the story. does Forrest Gump impersonation "You never know what you're gonna get!"_

_Crying!Snape has always been one of my pet hates because it usually seems so out of character for him. I think, though, under the circumstances here, it's justified – twenty years is a long time to live with something and finally be free. _

_As always, you can find the next chapter at the On-line Wizarding Library – owl dot tauri dot org_


	28. Where Do We Go From Here?

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter 28**

On Tuesday morning, Hermione made her way down to the common room at first light to put the finishing touches on her Arithmancy essay, due after lunch. Normally she would have finished it days ahead of time, but she'd been somewhat preoccupied and had let all her homework catch up with her.

She was just rolling up the four-foot-long parchment and placing it back in her bookbag when Harry and Ron came down from the boy's dormitories.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry said, Ron echoing the greeting, adding, "You're up early."

"Just finishing some homework," she said with a smile, earning her an odd look from both her friends.

"What?"

"It's been a while since I've seen that expression on your face," Harry said, returning the smile. "Should be assume there's good news?"

Hermione nodded and then looked around. Other students were starting to filter down to the common room, so she beckoned the boys to follow her back up to her own room, closing the door behind them and adding a Silencing Charm for good measure.

Sitting on her bed, she explained to her friends briefly what had happened the previous night,

"Ah," mused Ron. "That's why you weren't at dinner. We wondered when we saw Dumbledore, McGonagall and Lupin all here at once – that hasn't happened for ages."

"It was that obvious?" she asked worriedly.

"Only to us," Harry reassured her. "So, when is he coming back to teaching? I think I might have actually scraped an E with Friday's brew. I better enjoy it while it lasts."

"I don't know whether he's coming back," she said in a low voice. "The way Dumbledore spoke at breakfast last week, it doesn't sound like it."

She frowned at Harry's audible sigh of relief.

"Oh, I know, Hermione," he said quickly, before she could admonish him. "I'm glad he's okay because he's good for the Order and because you were worried about him, but he's still the same person to me."

"I'm working on that," she murmured quietly.

"I wouldn't go to too much trouble," Ron chuckled.

"Yeah," Harry added. "It's not as if the feeling isn't entirely mutual."

"Yes, well," she said tersely. "I just thought you'd be interested to know, anyway, and you _did_ ask."

"We are, Hermione," Harry said. "Thanks."

"So, does that mean we'll be seeing more of you?" Ron asked hopefully.

"I don't know," Hermione sighed. "I mean, obviously more than you have in the last week, but it's going to look strange if I stop making potions for the infirmary and the place stays fully stocked. I'm sure Dumbledore will work something out, though. Besides, Severus doesn't seem to be up to brewing just yet, and I need to take the Wolfsbane up to Professor Lupin each night this week, so…"

She trailed off, realising Ron was staring at her as if she'd gone mad.

"What?"

She looked at Harry, confused, but he looked away and glanced at Ron instead, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Tell me I'm hearing things," Ron said, looking to Harry with a vaguely pleading expression.

"You're not," Harry said. Upon seeing Hermione's confused expression, he sighed and added quietly, "You called him Severus, Hermione."

She clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. The address had become almost second nature to her outside the Potions classroom, which was the only place she spoke to him in the presence of others. Of course Harry wasn't surprised – he'd seen her interact with Snape the night the dagger came out – but he was still looking slightly disturbed by the easy address. Ron looked positively green.

"This is _Snape_ we're talking about here," he said.

_Here we go again_, she thought, wondering how her red-haired friend would react in she ever told him the truth about her feelings for Snape. Best to keep that to herself, at least for the time being.

"What is going on with him? You don't call him that!" Ron continued in confusion.

"I _do_ call him that, Ron," she said, exasperated. "He's my _friend_, just like you. What do you want me to call him? Mr Snape?"

Harry choked back a laugh and she glared at him, unimpressed.

Ron shook his head. "Sorry, Hermione, but that's just... wrong."

"Why?" she asked, her voice getting louder. "Why is it wrong? Because you don't agree with it? Because you don't like him?"

"Well, I-" Ron spluttered. "He's just not someone you _have _for a friend."

"Oh, don't be so ridiculous, Ron," she snapped. "Everyone has friends, and he just happens to be one of mine, just like you... or like you _were_, if you're going to continue acting like this. You don't have to like it, but there's nothing you can do about it."

"You're right," he said, standing up, and angry look on his face. "I don't like it."

With that, he stormed from the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Hermione and Harry stared at the closed door for a moment, and then she sank back onto the edge of her bed.

"I should never have told him anything about this," she sighed.

"We can't shut him out, Hermione," Harry said, sitting next to her. "We're a team, remember?"

She snorted. "Yeah... some team. It just infuriates me how one-eyed he can be. I know Snape was cruel to him in class, but no more than to anyone else, and not half as cruel as he was to you. It's almost as though Ron hates him on your behalf."

"Mmm," Harry murmured. "And I don't even hate him anymore… not really."

Hermione looked at her friend in surprise.

"Well," Harry amended. "It's not as if I _like_ him or anything. I just... I guess I understand him a bit better now."

Hermione laughed.

"That's a small wonder. Even _I _don't understand him most of the time."

There was silence for a moment, and then Harry turned to face her, a serious expression on his face.

"Hermione," he began. "You're my friend, one of my best friends, okay? You're the closest thing I've ever had to a sister."

She looked at him curiously.

"What's really going on between you and Snape?" he asked flatly.

She stared at him, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks even as she said, "Don't you start, too, Harry. I've had enough of all these accusations with Ron."

"I'm not accusing," he said. "I'm just asking. I know you, and the way you were looking at him the other night was beyond friendship."

"I thought he was dying, Harry," she countered. "I was worried, and I was upset, just as I would have been if it had been you or Ron in his position."

She looked away. Hermione hated not telling him the truth, though she hadn't exactly lied... just side-stepped his question, really.

"How far has it gone?"

"I – what?" She stared at Harry, her face blanching momentarily before she felt the heat rising in her cheeks again.

He was watching her closely, clearly waiting for an answer, and try as she might she found she couldn't muster the scorn to reply with a scathing, "Nowhere," or "You've got to be joking."

Instead, she shook her head and said, "I don't see how that is anyone's business."

"God, I was right," Harry muttered, taking her lack of protestation as confirmation of his suspicions. He stood up and walked to the window.

"Harry, I-" She broke off, having no idea what to say to her friend, yet feeling the need to say _something_, even though it really wasn't any concern of his.

"Just don't tell me you're in love him or something," he muttered. "I might be more understanding than Ron, but even I have my limits."

She looked down at her hands and heard the soft rustle of his robes as he came back to stand in front of her.

"Hermione."

She looked up and met his eyes, seeing the look of disgust cross his face. She sighed, realising she would have to explain herself now, lest he jump to the wrong conclusion.

"Harry," she said, taking his hand and pulling him to sit beside her. "It's not what you think."

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking," he said with a visible shudder.

"Look," she said. "It's hard to explain. I know a completely different Severus Snape to the one you know, the one most other people know. Yes, Severus is still sarcastic and short-tempered, but he isn't cruel or nasty for the sake of being so. He's brilliant, and I've learnt so much from him, and I... I just honestly enjoy spending time with him, Harry. Can you understand that?"

Her friend was silent for a moment, watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.

At length, he said, "And there's nothing else going on between you?"

She shook her head. She was being truthful… mostly. One little kiss wasn't worth mentioning, and that's all it was… for now.

"I can't understand it," he said with a sigh. "But I can accept it, I think."

"That's good enough for me," she said softly, relieved. "Will you try to talk some sense into Ron, though? I just don't think he'll listen to reason from me, and I don't want us fighting… not now."

After almost losing one friend, she didn't want to remain on bad terms with anyone else.

"I'll try," he said, "but don't hold your breath. You know how he is."

_Yes, I do,_ she sighed inwardly, and they left her room and headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

* * *

The day of classes flew by, and before Hermione knew it, she was finishing her Head Girl patrol after dinner and making her way up to the Headmaster's office, Flooing through to Snape's quarters from there. She had to take another goblet of Wolfsbane Potion to Professor Lupin, and Dumbledore had cautioned her against appearing from the hidden first-floor passage with the potion in her hands, suggesting instead she enter and leave via the Floo in his office.

Appearing on the sitting room hearth and dusting her robe off, she was surprised to see Snape sitting behind his desk, a book open in front of him, and another small pile nearby.

"You're up," she said. "I thought you'd still be in bed."

He didn't answer right away, and she realising he wasn't reading, as she'd first assumed, but gazing down at his left arm where it was resting on the desk. His shirtsleeve was rolled up to his elbow, and he had turned the limb a little, staring at the pale, unmarked skin of his inner forearm as he had done the previous night.

After a moment, he seemed to visibly shake himself and looked up at her, a wry smile crossing his face.

"I just have to keep checking," he said quietly, "to make sure it's really gone."

She crossed the room and shifted a pile of parchments from the corner of his desk, lifting herself up to perch on the free space. He raised an eyebrow at her temerity, but she ignored it and reached for his left hand, pulling his arm into her lap. When she was sure he wasn't going to pull it away, she reached for his sleeve, unravelling the soft material down his arm, hiding the unblemished skin.

She looked up at him as she finished buttoning the small sleeves of his cuff, and he drew his gaze from where he'd been watching her fingers to meet her eyes.

"It's not going to come back," she said quietly.

"I know, I'm just…" He broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly with the fingers of his right hand as he withdrew his left from her lap. "It's daft, I know, but I can't seem to help myself."

"It's not daft," she insisted. "It will just take some getting used to."

She studied him more closely, noting the dark circles like smudges under his eyes. "Are you sure you're feeling well enough to be up?"

"I've been in bed for a week, Hermione," he said dryly. "I'll go stir crazy if I stay idle any longer."

He stood up as if to prove his point, taking the closed books on his desk across the room to the shelves and slipping them back into place amongst the other dusty tomes. Hermione noticed that, despite his assurance, he wasn't moving with the swift grace she'd come to associate with him in the past seven years. There was slight hesitancy in his movements, as if he didn't quite trust his body to fully support him again just yet.

She hopped down from his desk and crossed the room to join him.

"Has Professor Dumbledore spoken to you yet?"

"No." He turned from the bookshelf, the last book still in his hands. "He's coming down later tonight, as a matter of fact. I don't think I'll like what he's going to have to say."

"You don't know that," she reasoned.

"He all but forbade me to leave these rooms until he's spoken to me," Snape replied darkly. "That does not bode well."

"You think he might keep you here?" she asked.

"I wouldn't put it past him," he muttered.

Unable to think of anything reassuring to say – she had the feeling Snape was right, anyway - Hermione went into the lab to retrieve a fresh goblet of Wolfsbane Potion to take to Lupin.

"Can I Floo straight through from here?" she asked, returning to the sitting room to find Snape back at his desk.

He shook his head. "Albus warded the fireplace. You can only go to his office. You'll have to Floo there and then again to Lupin's classroom."

She sighed. "Okay, I'll be back in a moment."

She returned five minutes later with an empty goblet. Snape was back at his desk, but he'd turned the chair around to face the windows. As she crossed the room to join him, a soft hoot startled her, and she noticed his black owl sitting on her perch in the corner.

She detoured to greet the bird softly and give it a scratch on the back of its head. She stood next to the owl for some time, watching Snape, who was staring out the window. The absolute darkness outside and the reflection of the wall sconces in the room left little to look at, and she noticed he was rubbing his arm absently again.

"I wouldn't worry about what Professor Dumbledore is going to say," she said conversationally after some time.

He looked up sharply. "Do you know what he has planned?"

She shook her head. "Beyond the fact that he more or less told the whole school you won't be teaching Potions anymore, I'm as confused as you are. He means well, though; he was very worried for you."

Snape snorted. "He was worried about the loss of his Potions teacher and spy."

"No, worried for _you_," she insisted. "Potions teachers and spies can be replaced, albeit with difficulty. No one can replace Severus Snape."

"How touching," he said with a trace of his old sneer, but she couldn't help noticing he looked vaguely pleased.

"I'm serious, you know," she continued. "It wasn't until this last week that I've realised Dumbledore really does care for people beyond their usefulness to him. Whatever he decides, I'm sure it will be for the best."

He snorted. "Albus often has a very different idea of what 'for the best' is than the rest of us."

"Like this," she said with a small smile, gesturing between them.

He smirked a little. "Yes, well, this was one of his notable exceptions."

Her smile widened and Snape extended his hand, gesturing for her to come closer. She joined him at the window and he pulled her close to his chest. Putting her arms loosely around his back, she turned her head so that her cheek was against the soft fabric of his shirt and she could follow his earlier gaze out the window, but she could only see the room reflected in the glass. She fixed her gaze on the reflection of Snape's face, his eyes closed, chin resting atop her head.

"Where do we go from here?" she murmured.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly, his long fingers tracing a path through the tangled curls of her hair. "Whoever would have thought it would come to this?"

"I'm glad it has," she replied softly.

She felt the rumbling murmur of his response but missed his words, so she tilted her head up and said, "What was that?"

He looked down, his face inches from hers, and she felt his breath warm on her face as he repeated, "I said, as am I."

Slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, he lowered his head. Pulling away was the last thing on her mind as his lips met hers, soft and warm. The memory of their last kiss had played over in her head countless times since it had happened, but this was real, and so much better than any memory could be. He didn't taste like Firewhisky this time, she noted. Just like... _him_. It was an intoxicating taste, though, and she opened her mouth against his, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

He complied willingly, and she shivered as his tongue traced a gentle path around her lips before delving further in.

She fisted her hand in his hair, drawing her nails across his scalp a little. The action elicited a soft groan from him, which thrummed a soft vibration through their joined mouths. He drew back after a long, breathless moment, resting his forehead against hers, his breath hot and uneven on her cheek. She opened her eyes – she didn't remember having closed them – to see him watching her, so close it seemed her whole being was filled with the deep black fire in his gaze.

She drew in a shaky gulp of air, glad his arms were still around her because she didn't think her knees would support her at that moment. Her heart was racing, and as he straightened a little and she moved her head to rest on his chest, she could feel his heart beating a thumping cadence, too.

They stood together for some time until Snape finally broke the silence.

"I realised I never properly thanked you for everything you've done this past week," he murmured into her hair, "though I daresay I don't yet know the full extent of your contribution."

She drew back from his chest and looked up sharply, wondering whether he had somehow found out about the moonfilly already, but then realised he simply meant no one had told him what had happened in the week he'd been unconscious beyond the fact that she had hardly – and then only reluctantly – left his side.

"No thanks are needed," she said, and then, trying to draw his attention elsewhere in case he asked her to explain what had really happened, added jokingly, "Although, if properly thanking me involves doing what you just did, more thanks would be very welcome."

He narrowed his eyes, but there was amusement in them, and the corner of his mouth curled up in an appreciative smirk as he lowered his lips to hers once again.

The kiss was more forceful this time, now he was sure she wasn't going to object, but he reluctantly pulled away after what seemed like far too short a time to Hermione, saying by way of explanation, "Albus could be here at any moment."

His hands trailed from her back to her shoulders, and he lifted one hand to brush a lone fingertip across her lips. "It wouldn't do for him to see you looking so thoroughly kissed."

"You look rather well-kissed yourself," she said, amused by the flushed look about his pale features. "How are you going to explain that to him?"

"Well," he said, raising an eyebrow, "at least if you're not here it might not be immediately apparent. I can always hope he's misplaced his glasses."

She let out a soft snort of laughter and stepped away, causing his hands drop from her shoulders.

"Will you let me know what the Headmaster has to say?" she asked, crossing the room to the door leading out to the first floor corridor.

"Tomorrow," he agreed, moving to the bookshelves again.

She opened the door, hesitated, and turned back to him. He had selected a large tome from the shelf and was flipping through it, searching for a particular page.

"Severus?"

He looked up, letting the book fall closed again.

"It's good to have you back," she said sincerely.

He smiled faintly and nodded, and she left, closing the door softly behind her.

* * *

On Wednesday, the last lesson before lunch was Potions, and Hermione tried to talk to the Headmaster at the end of the class. The aging wizard looked rather more tired than usual today, and she wondered if it was a result of his discussion - or perhaps argument - with Severus the previous night. She wanted to have some idea of what to expect when she went down to the former Potions master's quarters later that day.

The Headmaster disappeared promptly at the end of the lesson, though, even before the students had finished cleaning their cauldrons.

"Are you coming to lunch, Hermione?" Harry asked, walking up to her as she stuffed her potions text back into her bag with a frown.

"No, I don't think so," she said, looking around to check that Malfoy had exited the classroom. "I have work to do," she added meaningfully.

Harry sighed. "Oh, right."

"Besides," she added, following him from the classroom and closing the door behind her, "it's not like Ron is in any mood to talk to me yet. He certainly wasn't at breakfast."

"I did talk to him last night," Harry said as they climbed the stairs to the Entrance Hall. "He's just being stubborn. Give him a few days and he'll come around."

"I hope so," Hermione murmured before bidding her friend farewell and heading for the first floor corridor.

Her afternoon class was Medicinal Potions, which she used as her time to brew for the infirmary, and she had a short list from Madam Pomfrey of the brews and salves required in the next few days.

Snape was in the lab when she arrived, but he only grunted in response to her greeting. She frowned, expecting a slightly warmer reception after the previous evening. Perhaps she'd been fooling herself. He was still the same person, after all, and not one prone to overt shows of affection.

She looked at him properly, then, to see that his face was fixed in a scowl.

"What's wrong?" she asked, crossing to the opposite side of the bench from where he stood. He held up his hand, and she belatedly realised he was counting the number of stirs he was making with the glass rod in his hand.

He looked even more tired than he had last night, she noticed, and wondered at the outcome of his conversation with the Headmaster.

Peering into the cauldron, she recognised the Wolfsbane Potion, and was about to ask why he was brewing it – she had made enough for the current moon cycle earlier in the week – when she saw the parchments next to the cauldron, filled with scribbles and scratched-out variations of the original brew.

She knew well enough by now not to disturb him when experimenting; the Wolfsbane was fairly safe to brew, but if Snape was adding extra ingredients or changing quantities he couldn't afford to lose concentration.

Retreating quietly to her own corner of the room, she set about preparing the ingredients for the basic Pepper-up Potion. The mediwitch had almost run out of her last batch of the potion owing to the abundance of coughs and colds going around the student body this winter.

As it turned out, Snape didn't need Hermione to distract him. About an hour after she'd entered the lab, she heard a loud curse from across the room, followed by a hissing noise as the cauldron he was working with slumped to one side, melting.

Murky grey liquid flowed from a hole in the cast iron onto the bench, over Snape's hand, which he pulled away with a jerk, and onto the floor. Snape leapt back as the liquid splashed his boots, grabbed his wand, and cast a quick succession of Vanishing Spells as the mixture continued to bubble and spread.

Hermione was across the room in an instant, throwing a quick stasis spell over her cauldron before adding her own _Evanesco_ to Snape's mess.

When it was finally contained, Snape dropped his wand with a hiss of pain, the wood falling to the newly-cleaned floor with a sharp clatter. She glanced at his hand to see it still covered in the grey liquid.

"Oh, shit," she muttered under her breath, turning to the nearby cupboard to retrieve a cloth. One of the first lessons Madam Pomfrey had taught the Medicinal Magic class was never to use _Evanesco_ on a person's skin. If the skin was broken, the spell could damage it further.

She reached for his hand to wipe the slimy substance away, but he pulled it from her grasp.

"No, burn-healing paste," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Hurry."

She flew across the room to the storage cabinet, grabbed the large jar, and then followed Snape across to the small sink on the far wall of the room, where he shoved his hand under the cold tap, rinsing of the ruined potion.

By the time his skin was clean, his hand was painfully swollen, blisters along his fingers making them look twice their normal size. Without a word, she uncapped the jar and scooped as much of the sticky orange paste onto her fingers as she could.

Taking his wrist above the burn, she spread the first dollop across the back of his hand. He drew a breath sharply as the coolness of the salve stung again the heat of the burn.

"Sorry," she said, pausing her ministrations for a moment.

"Just get on with it," he bit out, though not nastily.

She spread the paste carefully from wrist to fingertips, leaving a thick layer all over his skin. It worked best when it was left to absorb naturally for several hours, healing the blistered skin so it wouldn't peel or scar.

She had some difficulty spreading it between his fingers, swollen as they were, and she found his eyes tightly shut when she glanced up, a grimace knitting his brow as she finished.

"There," she said quietly, releasing his wrist. "That should be okay in a couple of hours."

He opened his eyes and held up his hand, examining it. It looked at though he was wearing a large, shiny, orange glove.

"Is it still hurting?" she asked.

"Smarting a bit," he admitted, turning to survey the ruined cauldron, slumped grotesquely on the bench. "It was lucky we both acted so quickly. Thank you."

She brushed off his thanks as he strode back across the room, picking up his wand with his good hand. He looked at it closely, frowning, until she asked, "What is it?"

"It didn't react as well as it should have," he murmured, turning it over between the fingers of his left hand.

"Well," she reasoned, "It's different from your usual wand. Maybe you're just not used to it yet."

His main wand had never been returned to him after his last summons, and he was using the spare wand he'd last used at Christmas. It was slightly longer and thinner than his old one, and the wood, while still dark, had a rich red hue when held in bright light.

"Hmmm," he muttered noncommittally, still frowning at the length of wood.

"What caused the potion to react so violently, anyway?" she asked.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have done it, would I?" he snapped, and she took a step back, chastened.

Red-faced, she crossed back to her own cauldron, lifting the stasis spell and vanishing the contents, realising she'd lost count of the precise number of stirs required to make the potion.

"I apologise, Hermione." His voice echoed across the silence of the room. "That was uncalled for."

"Yes, it was," she said stiffly, turning to face him. He was sitting at the small, cramped desk, his back to her. She relented her sharp tone with a sigh and made her way to stand next to him.

"I suppose what I meant was, what were you doing when it went awry?"

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly with the fingers of his uninjured hand. "Exactly what I normally do with the Wolfsbane Potion – exactly what _you've_ done to brew it, too. I hadn't even reached the stage to make any variation tonight. I just lost concentration."

"You _just lost concentration_?" she repeated in disbelief. "You're a Master of Potions; you never just lose concentration!"

"Oh, yes," he snapped sarcastically. "Call the _Prophet_. Severus Snape ruins a potion. That's sure to be front page news."

She opened her mouth to retort that if his name was in the _Prophet_, it would probably be speculation about his rumoured demise and his true loyalties, but she bit her tongue, realising what had distracted him in the first place.

He pulled a parchment filled with formulas from a pile on the edge of the desk, but then, reaching for a quill, realised his right hand was useless for the time being. He pushed the parchment aside again and sighed tiredly.

Shifting the pile of parchments, she sat on the hard, wooden surface, facing him.

He looked at her then, clearly irritated. "Is it too much to ask that you use a chair?"

"Yes," she replied. "You can't ignore me if I sit here, and I won't go away until you tell me what's bothering you."

"How long do you have?" he enquired sarcastically.

"As long as it takes," she said evenly, "unless you have another pressing engagement?"

His face darkened and he met her eyes.

"I have all the time in the world," he said softly, though his voice was tight with anger, "now that Dumbledore has decided to render me completely useless for the rest of this war."

"Useless?" she repeated carefully.

"Albus has decided," he began, then paused. "No, _demanded_, that I remain here. Indefinitely. Until the conclusion of the war."

"At Hogwarts?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not just at Hogwarts. That, I could possibly handle. No, I'm to be confined to _these rooms_."

"He wants you to play dead, then," she stated flatly, realising her earlier speculation had been correct.

"He wants me to hide away like that mongrel Black did," he spat. "Completely and utterly useless. I'm going stir crazy in here after two days, Hermione. How long is this war going to last? Another month? A year? Longer?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but realised she didn't have any argument. She was glad, of course, that Dumbledore wasn't risking Snape's life by making it known he had survived, but she'd seen the result of keeping a man caged before – it was Sirius' frustration at being confined and helpless that had led to his untimely death.

"And the old man had the audacity to congratulate me on my freedom," he added bitterly. "What sort of freedom is this?"

"Well," she reasoned, thinking quickly, "at least you'll be safe, and there are still things you can do here, aren't there?"

"Oh, yes," he said sardonically. "I can still experiment with potions – like this one tonight – though Albus didn't say how we might put any successes to use without raising questions as to where the potions have come from. I can give the Order information based on what I know about the way the Dark Lord operates, and targets he might choose, but it's all based on speculation. It's no match for current information from someone within his ranks."

He stood up and brushed past her, disappearing into the sitting room. Hermione stared after him for a moment before following.

He was sitting at one end of the couch, staring blankly into the unlit fireplace, his injured hand hanging over the side of the armrest.

She sat sideways on the couch next to him, crossing her legs underneath her.

"He means well, you know," she said quietly. "It would be a death sentence for you to leave Hogwarts. Even here, if Voldemort finds out you're alive, he could find a way to get to you and finish what he started. Professor Dumbledore is only trying to keep you safe."

"He's exchanging my safety for the lives of others, Hermione," he said, leaning forwards to rest his head in his hands. "Death Eaters could attack the school, the Ministry, Hogsmeade, _anywhere_, and we have no means of warning. I couldn't prevent every attack while I was in his ranks, but I was able to do _something_. I was able to stop some of the carnage."

Hermione realised that it wasn't news of his confinement in itself that was bothering him the most, not even the fact that he was being forced to do exactly what he'd mocked Sirius for having to do two years ago and hide away for his own safety. It was his inability to prevent something which he had no control over – Voldemort's attacks - that was the root of his frustration.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will find another way to get information," she said, but he snorted derisively.

"Oh, yes," he sneered. "There are spies in the Dark Lord's ranks just queuing up to take my position. It's not that simple, Hermione. It took me the better part of twenty years to work my way into a position of trust in his ranks."

"You make it sound like you'd rather be back out there," she murmured.

"Perhaps I would."

She turned to stare at him, his mouth still fixed in a tight line.

"You don't mean that," she said, and he looked down at her.

"Don't I?"

She stood up, folding her arms as she said angrily, "After everything Dumbledore has done for you, you want to throw it back in his face and get yourself killed?"

"Everything he's done?" Snape glared up at her. "What has he ever done for me – for any of us - that hasn't suited his own ends as well?"

"I-" She stalled, and he sighed.

"You'll learn, Hermione," he said quietly, looking away from her. "You'll see the way he works eventually, and don't expect me to be around to say I told you so."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said resignedly. "It doesn't matter, now."

She frowned, wondering if there was something he wasn't telling her. She didn't get a chance to dwell on it, though, because in the next moment there was a flutter of wings, and Snape's black owl landed on the back of the couch next to him.

"She'll have to go, too," he said quietly and reached up with his good hand to scratch the back of Tonatiuh's neck.

"Go?" Hermione questioned, sitting on the edge of the couch again, facing Snape and the bird.

The owl hooted, seeming to glower at Snape, who addressed his familiar directly, saying, "Well, I can't have a bloody bird flying in and out of here if I'm supposed to be _dead_, can I? Someone will notice."

"Oh, of course," she murmured. "Can she stay in the Owlery?"

"Yes," Snape said. "I was hoping you'd take her tonight, actually."

She nodded. The owl was watching her master with bright eyes, knowing something was wrong.

"She'll be bored up there," Hermione said. "Can I use her to write to my parents sometimes? I'm sure she'd enjoy the long flight."

"A good idea," Snape agreed, holding up his forearm for the owl, who promptly hopped on, clasping his shirt-sleeve with her sharp claws as Snape stood up.

Hermione stood up too, as Snape gestured for her to come closer. She did, and he urged Tonatiuh to hop across onto her shoulder. The bird did so, very reluctantly, and Snape stroked the owl's feathers once more, then dropped his arm and cleared his throat.

"I don't think I ever asked you – so much has happened since then - how are your parents faring in their new home?"

"As well as can be expected," she sighed. "They're safe, and that's what matters, although I don't think they'll be happy until I'm there with them."

"You plan on joining them?" he asked lightly, beckoning her to follow him to the lab again. His voice held an odd tone.

"No," she said, and though she might have imagined it, she thought she saw his shoulders relax slightly. "But they don't have to know that. I won't leave before the end of this war, and I won't visit them in case I lead Death Eaters there. We were lucky once, thanks to you; I won't take the chance again."

He nodded and opened the door to the passage leading down to the Potions classroom. She stared at him in confusion.

"You shouldn't be seen with Tonatiuh coming from anywhere but the my office downstairs. Some of the older Slytherins might recognise her as my owl. If you're coming from the dungeons and are questioned, you can merely say Albus asked you to take her to the Owlery."

"Okay," she agreed. "Shall I come back afterwards? Madam Pomfrey needs the Pepper-Up as soon as possible."

He shook his head. "I'll take care of that tonight. It won't take long."

"What about your hand?"

He held it up to examine it. The swelling had gone down a little already, and his skin had absorbed much of the sticky orange paste, leaving a thin film over his hand.

"It will be usable soon," he said at length. "I can manage with my wand until then. Perhaps you might come and get the potion tomorrow to deliver to the Hospital Wing?"

"Okay," she agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

She glanced at his hand once more, then at the owl on her shoulder and slipped through the door.

"Hermione."

She turned back a short way down the dark passage. Standing in the doorway, Snape's face was obscured in shadow as the light from the lab shone behind him.

"Thank you."

She smirked. The words had taken on a new meaning since the previous day, and she responded cheekily, "You can thank me properly next time I see you."

His chuckle echoed into the dark tunnel before he closed the door, and she lit her wand, making her way to the dungeons. It was heartening, in a way, to know that she could still make him laugh despite everything.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Notes: Many thanks, as always, to everyone who had read and reviewed._

_As always, the next chapter can be found at owl dot tauri dot org. _


	29. Mind Matters

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 29**

Stealing quietly through the dark passageway to Snape's dungeon office, Hermione emerged in the Potions classroom with the black eagle owl still riding silently on her shoulder.

Cautiously opening the door to the main dungeon corridor, she peered out to find it empty, before stepping fully into the long hallway, closing the classroom door tightly behind her. She was halfway to the staircase leading to the upper levels of the castle when a shape emerged from the shadows of an alcove.

She stopped, startled, her heart in her throat as the memory of the last time she'd been confronted alone in this very corridor rose in her mind. But this wasn't her attacker, or one of his accomplices who'd remained hidden in the shadows last time.

It was Malfoy.

"Granger," he said civilly, and then his eyes drifted to the owl. Recognition flashed across his face and he stepped closer to her, his eyes narrowing.

"What are you doing?"

She cursed inwardly. It hadn't occurred to her that the Head Boy's patrol took him through the dungeons at this time on a Wednesday night.

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to take this owl up to the Owlery, if you must know," she said stiffly.

He stared at her, and then at the owl again. Tonatiuh ruffled her feathers in a clear show of annoyance, and Hermione wondered if the owl recognised the young man?

"Why are you taking it up there?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because that's where owls belong, Malfoy," she said, adding snidely, "Surely the Head Boy knows _that_."

"That's not what I meant, Granger," he said, clearly irritated. "Do you know whose owl that is?"

Hermione hesitated. However surprised Malfoy had seemed at the news of Snape's 'disappearance' the previous week, he was watching her a little too carefully, waiting for her response. Was he genuinely curious as to whether the rumours of Snape's demise were true, or was he simply appearing so on the instructions of another – someone with more sinister motives? Whatever the reason, she wasn't about to give the game away, and could play her part well.

"I know whose owl it _was_," she said quietly, looking down at her feet.

Malfoy didn't say anything, and she looked up after a moment to find him watching the owl with a fearful look on his face.

"So it's true, then," he whispered, more to himself than Hermione.

"What?" she said sharply.

His eyes met hers in surprise, as though he'd momentarily forgotten she was there, before his expression changed, the stricken look replaced with a cool expression of indifference.

"You shouldn't be wandering the dungeons on your own, Granger," he said, a warning tone in his voice. "You never know who you might meet down here."

"If you're talking about yourself, Malfoy, I'm not scared of you," she said, and brushed past him to continue down the corridor to the stairs at the far end.

"It's not me you should be afraid of," a voice came from behind her.

She halted and turned, but the blonde had already turned, too, and was making his way down to the other end of the corridor and the stairs leading to another lower level and the Slytherin common room.

Frowning slightly in confusion, she continued up the many flights of stairs to the Owlery on the westernmost side of the school. It was quite dark in the draughty room, but Hermione could hear the rustle of countless owls on the rafters high above her head.

"Well," she said, twisting her head around to regard the bird on her shoulder. "This is your new home. I daresay it's not as comfortable as your old one, but there's plenty to eat out in the grounds and plenty of other owls to keep you company... unless you're a solitary creature like your master."

Tonatiuh hooted softly and nibbled a frizzy tendril of hair which had escaped Hermione's ponytail.

"Oh, go on," she said quietly to the bird. "I'll come and visit you when I can."

She reached her hand up to stroke its silky feathers for a moment, before it took flight, disappearing into the gloom above her. A scuffle and twitter followed by a few tawny feathers floating to the ground told Hermione the black owl had found – or perhaps stolen – a place to roost.

* * *

One night, just over a week after his confinement had begun, Hermione went down to his quarters after a two day absence. There had been a sudden outbreak of arguments amongst some of the younger Gryffindors, and Professor McGonagall had asked for her help to resolve them. Snape was standing at the small sink in the corner of the lab when she arrived just after dinner, a crate of dirty jars and phials beside him. Shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he was cleaning them with a washcloth and sink-full of murky water.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly from the doorway.

"What does it look like?" he replied shortly, the crease between his brows deepening.

"Cleaning," she said evenly. "But why are you doing it that way?"

"Why not?"

She sighed. "Do you have to answer every question with another one?"

"Do you have to ask so many bloody questions?" The bite in his tone was unmistakeable, and she stepped over to the crate and flicked her wand at its content. The jars and phials were suddenly sparkling clean.

Snape glared at her. She stared back passively and he flung down the rag, dropped the jar in his hands into the sink of water and stalked from the room.

She cleaned the final jar, the sink and the cloth, and peered through the doorway into the sitting room to see him in an armchair, staring moodily into the empty hearth.

It was cold in the room. She crossed in front of him and lit the fireplace with a murmured, "_Incendio._" He blinked in the sudden brightness of the flames.

Unless he felt the need to voice his frustrations to her, she thought it best to leave him to his thoughts, however depressing and morose they might be. He didn't take well to being forced into anything, but especially anything personal. Putting her hand lightly on his shoulder for a moment as she passed him, she made her way back into the lab to brew a flask of Invigoration Draught for Madam Pomfrey.

In the flurry of activities requiring her attention in the last few days, she'd neglected to consider how much her presence had become a constant for him, especially now, when almost all other constants in his life had suddenly been turned upside-down. He hadn't been far from her thoughts at any time – he hardly ever was these days, actually – but she just hadn't found the time to visit him... until now.

Some time later, when the potion was almost complete, Hermione heard a noise and looked up to see him across the room, leaning comfortably against the doorframe with his arms folded.

"I had plenty of time to spare," he said by way of explanation for his manual labour. "It felt good to be doing something."

"There are a lot of things you could be doing without resorting to cleaning jars," she said, sprinkling a carefully measured ounce of ground billywig wings into the cauldron. "I could have done that – with or without magic."

"You weren't here."

She sighed. The potion had turned a deep shade of golden yellow and was complete but for cooling. She capped the jar of billywig wings and turned from his gaze to replace it on the shelf and close the cabinet.

"I know I haven't seen you for a few days, and I'm sorry for that," she said with a touch of remorse. "It's not that I didn't want to be here. Time just got away from me."

He shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I'm not selfish enough to expect to see you every day, especially with your NEWTs approaching and your other friends' looming troubles. It was just... strange. I couldn't concentrate on practical experiments, and my research has reached a block I can't seem to get past. At least, washing jars, my hands were busy and I didn't have to think too much."

"I never thought you'd be one to be bothered by silence," she commented.

"Neither did I," he sighed. "For all I bemoan constant distractions when I'm trying to work, I've realised in the last week that some distractions are preferable to none at all."

"Well, in that case, I'll try to find time to come down and distract you more often," she said with a soft laugh, setting the scales she had been using back in their place on the shelf next to the mortar and pestles.

He didn't respond immediately, and she didn't hear him approach, so she almost shrieked in surprise when she felt an arm suddenly snake around her waist from behind.

"And what a pleasant distraction it will be," he murmured, his breath hot on her ear.

She twisted around to face him, and her breath caught in her throat at the suppressed fire in his dark eyes. She had never imagined him as the type of man to display affection on random occasions, if at all, and therefore on the occasions he did it always sent a pleasant jolt through the lower regions of her stomach.

She tilted her head back as he lowered his, and his lips deviated from their original target of her mouth to brush along her neck, instead. She gasped, a shiver running through her body at the feather-light caress and the soft whisper of his breath on her skin.

Encircling his waist with her arms, she arched her back and pulled him closer so they were touching from shoulder to hip. She was glad for the hard, wooden shelves behind her, grounding her, as a wave of giddy pleasure swept through her body. If he could render her weak at the knees with barely a kiss, what would it be like if they ever...

"What are you doing to me?" he murmured, a rough edge to his normally silken tone.

"Well," she began impertinently.

She stopped as a warning growl of, "Hermione," rumbled through his chest.

Biting back a laugh, she dropped her arms to her sides, allowing him to move away if he wished. He pulled his body back from hers slightly, enough so that they were still touching without actually pressing into one another, but didn't move any further than that for some time.

The thing that eventually drew him away was the whoosh of the Floo activating in the sitting room. An uttered curse spilt from his mouth and he left the room quickly. When she heard Dumbledore's voice floating in from the other room, she bit back a howl of frustration. Did the old man always have such impeccable timing?

* * *

The next month passed in a blur of classes, homework, meetings and, of course, time spent with Snape. Though winter has given way to the intermittent sunshine and frequent showers of February, Hermione had little opportunity to spend time out of doors.

Ron had snidely mentioned as much, noting she looked almost as pale as the former Potions master. Her red-haired friend was still annoyed at her easy friendship with the outed spy and the amount of time she spent with him. Sick of Ron's petty jealousy and uncomfortable leaving Snape to his own devices for too long at a time, Hermione began to spend more and more time in his quarters, rather than endure her other friend's snide remarks and huffing whenever she returned to the Gryffindor common room.

In addition to brewing the Hospital Wing supplies and occasionally helping the former Potions teacher with whatever he was working on, Hermione did most of her other homework in his quarters, too, at his desk while he was brewing, or on the coffee table in front of the fireplace if he was in the room with her. His book collection was small compared to the Hogwarts library, but more than adequate, especially when it came to writing her Defence Against the Dark Arts essays.

On the seldom occasions she didn't have any work that needed immediate attention, she preferred the stillness of Snape's rooms to the rowdy common room.

The quietness of the room was getting to him, though, and he'd gone so far as to say he welcomed her idle chatter when they worked, as long as he wasn't experimenting with a new potion. She talked about everything from classes to the latest rumour of Voldemort's activities in the _Daily Prophet_, from her frustration with Ron to Harry's frustration with the Headmaster's reluctance to make the first move in the war.

Dumbledore, McGonagall and Lupin had been attending Order meetings at number twelve, Grimmauld Place almost every other night. With the discovery of Pettigrew's infiltration of both Hogwarts and the former House of Black, the Headmaster had seen fit to release the Order members from their mandatory house arrest, which had been in place since before Christmas. The danger hadn't passed by any stretch of the imagination, but with Snape's inside information no longer available, the need for knowledge of Death Eater activities outweighed the danger to the Order members, who were eager to be active again.

Dumbledore still had no clue as to how Pettigrew had gained access to the Order Headquarters with the Fidelius Charm still in place. It was worrisome, but additional charms now on the house meant no one could enter for the first time without Dumbledore's invitation. After initial entry was approved by the head of the Order, the individual could come and go at will.

The charm was sound, and the Order had tested it against a validated member entering Headquarters with a spy such as Pettigrew concealed upon them – knowingly or otherwise - in Animagus form. Professor Lupin, approved entry by the Headmaster, tested the wards by trying to pass through carrying a basket containing a familiar looking tabby cat who had not yet been allowed to re-enter the former House of Black. The experiment ended up with Lupin inside the house, but a very disgruntled McGonagall regaining her human form after climbing out of the basket, which had been torn from Lupin's grasp and flung clean across the road by the powerful wards.

Dumbledore was also convinced Pettigrew – or any other spies, for that matter - would no longer be able to penetrate the castle walls. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at that news; she'd only just stopped jumping each time a sound reached her ears in the silence of Snape's lab.

The Death Eaters had been strangely quiet since the supposed death of their traitor. While rumours of various isolated disappearances and deaths reached their ears, it was precious little compared to the large-scale attacks that had looked destined to continue before Snape's final summons. The Cruciatus potion hadn't made an appearance, either, for which Hermione was doubly glad; Snape took each death that had been reported since his discovery as a personal failure, and the last thing he needed on his conscience was another successful delivery of the potion he had created.

Whether the respite in attacks was purposeful or a result of the Order being active in the community again, no one knew. The lack of Death Eater activity comforted the general public, but the Headmaster wasn't so optimistic about it, and nor was Snape.

"The calm before the storm," Hermione suggested one night in Snape's sitting room. The Headmaster, along with McGonagall and Lupin, had just returned from another meeting at Grimmauld Place. They had taken to coming down to Snape's quarters after such meetings, rather than Hermione or Dumbledore having to pass on news to Snape later.

Much to Snape's chagrin, that also meant Harry was a regular visitor to his sitting room. They ignored each other for the most part, except for the occasional snide remark, mostly from Snape. Harry seemed to have developed an acceptance of, if not appreciation for, the Potions master's predicament, and it was a mark of how much the younger boy had matured that he didn't bring up the similarities between Snape's situation and Sirius', two years prior, about which, at the time, the Potions master had wasted no opportunity in mocking the other man.

If Ron had been cool towards Hermione before, he was downright cold when he learned of the 'secret meetings' both she and Harry were allowed to attend. Hermione was having nothing of his frustration at being kept in the dark, and his constant complaining ended in her snapping that until he started acting like an adult, he had no place at the meetings, anyway.

She hadn't spoken to him since.

That wasn't the only tension evident between friends, either. Hermione had noticed the shortness with which Snape addressed the Headmaster. It occurred to Hermione that he was not only furious with Dumbledore over his confinement, but also the incident with the moonfilly blood which the Headmaster had told him about. Snape hadn't mentioned it to Hermione, and she wasn't fool enough to broach the subject. She assumed Dumbledore hadn't let on the truth of the matter – that it was she who had taken the blood and delivered it to him – though she still didn't fully understand why Snape would be so angry about it, as Dumbledore had implied.

He hadn't broken his promise to the creature, from her point of view, and the moonfilly had seemed to understand his predicament and be eager assist. She had been meaning to read the chapter on blood in the _Moonfillies_ book again, but hadn't found the time. She'd only skimmed over it before the incident, his promise never to ask for the gift rendering any information within that chapter useless, anyway.

Malfoy was keeping a close watch on her as the weeks went by, too close a watch. Everywhere she went in the castle, he seemed to appear from a hidden door or shadowy alcove. Sometimes she couldn't see anything, but still had the distinct impression she was being followed. Once, when she emerged from the first floor corridor in the early hours of the morning after losing track of time reading in Snape's sitting room, she passed one such alcove and caught a hint of the distinctive, expensive cologne the Head Boy always wore.

She turned the corner at the end of the corridor and stood in the shadows herself for some time, but no one passed by, and she wondered if she was becoming paranoid.

Still, she was forced to enter Snape's quarters via the Floo in Dumbledore's office more often than not. She tried not to leave that way, though, for it was often late at night and, on occasion, the flush on her cheeks would have all but given away at least some of the night's activities. The Headmaster might be old, but he was also observant, and hadn't expressly given either Hermione or the former Potions master leave to continue what had begun between them that night back in January.

She had to give Snape credit; he was taking his confinement well… mostly. It probably helped that he had rarely sought the company of others when he was able. A more sociable person would have gone mad after a week alone in three rooms, even with Hermione now visiting him almost every night and often in her free lessons during the day. He still rubbed his arm absently when he was thinking or reading, but he'd stopped rolling the sleeve up for visual confirmation his Mark was gone. She had seen him scratching at the knife scar through his shirt on one occasion, but had said nothing.

Snape did have his moments, though, but she had learnt the best way to abate his temper was to go about her work or study as usual, rather than convince him to talk it through. He spoke of some of his frustrations to her, but if she tried to force it from him it only ended in an argument.

The more time Hermione spent in Snape's quarters, the more she enjoyed being there. He knew the value of silence, and didn't pester her like her fellow students, who were constantly coming to her for help with everything from homework to personal problems. She was Head Girl and had a duty to assist them where possible, but it did become tiresome listening to the petty whining of adolescents, particularly with her knowledge of the more serious problems facing the wizarding world.

Snape was content to sit in silence for hours, if that was what she needed, but he also seemed to know instinctively when she needed cheering up, her mind taken off whatever seemed to be bothering her with his dark, sarcastic sense of humour... or other forms of distraction.

New topics in Hermione's classes had given way to seven years' worth of revision in preparation for the NEWTs, even though the exams were still almost four months away. Her organisation in past years was paying off now, and she suddenly found her workload considerably lightened, research assignments being replaced with simply reading over her parchment-books full of notes and practicing the practical charms, spells and potions.

She did her reading, more often than not, in the quiet of Snape's sitting room, curled up in a corner of the couch. He joined her on most nights when he finished whatever he'd been working on in the lab or at his desk, selecting a book from his vast collection and settling next to her.

She would lean into his shoulder after some time, and then he would shift so his arm could come around her and she could lean against him more fully. His fingers would idly twist a curly strand of her hair around them as he read. Anyone else playing with her bushy hair would have earned a swift rebuke – it was a pet hate of hers – but with him, she allowed it… enjoyed it, even. They would talk quietly sometimes, about what they were reading or how the day had gone, but other than that the only sound would be the crackle of the flames in the fireplace and the soft whisper of pages turning.

Hermione's eyes became scratchy sometimes, after a particularly tiring day, and she would set her book aside, lean back and close her eyes, waiting until he finished his chapter or journal article before leaving for the night.

On one occasion, she fell asleep while he was still reading and woke in the heavy darkness before the dawn to find herself in his bed – alone – the silky comforter tucked around her fully-clothed body.

Slipping back out into the sitting room, she found Snape asleep on the couch, lying on his back, his bare feet hanging over the edge of one armrest. The book he'd been reading earlier was resting face-down on his stomach, and she crept back into his bedroom to retrieved a blanket she had spotted draped over the back of a chair. Returning to his prone form, she carefully removed the book from beneath his hands and draped the blanket over his form.

Stealing quietly from the room so as not to wake him, she made her way back up the Gryffindor tower just as the first hint of grey was appearing on the far horizon.

In the weeks following, she woke in the darkness to find herself in his bed on three more occasions, creeping past the sleeping figure on the couch and back to her own room before first light. It puzzled her... he would bail her up and kiss her senseless when the rare mood took him, and he would allow her to sleep in his bed, but it seemed to Hermione that he wouldn't allow _himself_ to remain there with her, wouldn't trust himself to stay there.

Did he really doubt his self-control that much, or hers, for that matter?

She wondered if he was waiting for her to ask him to stay, but she wouldn't know how to broach the subject. Her vaunted Gryffindor courage seemed to vanish when it came to initiating anything between them. She loved the shiver of pleasure that ran down her spine when he suddenly appeared behind her, his breath warm on her neck. Whenever she made an attempt to instigate something between them, though, it came off awkward in her eyes.

He seemed to enjoy it, nevertheless, but she found herself wishing on more than one occasion that she had paid attention to her Gryffindor dorm-mates when they had discussed such things. Lavender and Parvati had driven Hermione up the wall during the six years she had shared a room with them, their ceaseless gossiping, scheming and match-making constant getting in her nerves. She would never ask them for advice _now_, of course. For one, her pride wouldn't allow her to admit she was all but clueless and, for another, they wouldn't rest until they had discovered who she wanted to use their advice on.

_You're not completely clueless_, she allowed herself. She'd seen Victor Krum a few times since meeting him in her fourth year, and then there had been a few Hogsmeade trips with a seventh-year Gryffindor during her sixth year. And then there was... _No,_ she thought with a groan. _That's it._

Who was she kidding, trying to compare Snape to any of her past experiences? He was a man, not some equally inexperienced boy her own age, and she cared more about him - and his opinion of her - than she ever had anyone else. She _was_ clueless, and suddenly all too aware of it.

* * *

On a Wednesday night in early March, they were both in the lab; Hermione was restocking the infirmary supplies again in one corner, and Snape was testing yet more alterations to the Wolfsbane Potion. He had spent the past month trying to increase the potency of the brew so it would only need to be taken once a month, instead of every night of the week before the full moon. If he was successful, it was the first step towards a permanent cure for lycanthropy, and all but an assurance the Order would have support from most werewolves in the final stages of the war.

Her potions completed for the night, and his own simmering for twenty-four hours, they retired to the sitting room for a well-earned pot of tea. Sitting close on the couch, as had become their habit, Snape balanced his teacup on one knee, idly flipping through the latest _European Potions Federation Journal_. Hermione was content with the warmth of her cup clasped in both hands.

She noticed, though, glancing at Snape out of the corner of her eye a few times, that he wasn't actually reading. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the page, unmoving, lost in thought.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly after some time.

He blinked and looked at her, then closed the journal and set it aside with a sigh, placing his empty teacup on the table, too.

She knew something had been bothering him over the last few days; he'd been more short-tempered than usual. He made an effort not to take it out on her, and for that she was grateful, but his dark mood was getting her down, too.

He didn't speak for a moment, and she set her own cup down, prompting, "What is it?"

"I wonder," he said slowly, "if you might tell me what happened when… after I returned from... Voldemort the last time."

She watched his face carefully. She knew he was serious; it was only the second time he'd referred to Voldemort by his name, and it still took some effort on his part. _Old habits die hard_, she thought.

"Hasn't Professor Dumbledore spoken to you about it?" she asked, confused.

"He has," Snape said evenly. "Very briefly, though. He didn't really explain much at all, considering I was unconscious for the better part of a week."

Hermione looked down at her hands, twined together in her lap.

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, Hermione," he said. "Albus mentioned some anomaly when Potter removed the dagger, but he wouldn't go into it any further than that, other than to say whatever it was caused the Mark to disappear."

She looked up sharply. "He didn't tell you _how_ it came to vanish?"

He shook his head and she frowned. The Headmaster hadn't spoken to her at all about what he had discussed with Snape regarding the events of that week. Snape hadn't mentioned it either, but she assumed Dumbledore had told him most of what had occurred, and at the very least the circumstances under which his Mark was eradicated.

She wondered if the Headmaster had kept other important facts from him, like the moonfilly blood. Hermione had assumed Snape hadn't spoken of it to her because he was angry over her involvement. Was that the truth, or hadn't he mentioned it because he still didn't know?

She daren't broach the subject now, but she resolved to ask the Headmaster about it as soon as possible. Shaking herself from her reverie, she realised Snape was watching her expectantly, and she sighed.

"It's hard..." she began hesitantly. "I don't... I don't know where to begin."

The truth was, she didn't know how she could begin to explain what had happened in his bedroom that night, the terror of the strange magic and the relief that he survived, followed by a week of waiting and hoping. She didn't think she could detach the facts from the feelings well enough to simply give him the former, and she still hesitated to let him know how deeply the whole ordeal had affected her.

"If you don't want to-" he started to say, his tone clipped, but she cut him off.

"No, I do," she said firmly, turning to face him on the couch and tucking her feet up underneath her. "I would have told you sooner if I'd realised you didn't already know. I'm sorry. I just... I don't know how to put it into words."

He frowned, and she tried to elaborate.

"So much happened so quickly, I just don't know that words would do it justice. Does that make sense?"

He sighed, disappointed, turning his head away from her. She watched his profile with a thoughtful expression, and then an idea came to her.

"I might not be able to tell you," she said slowly, "but I could show you."

He turned to look at her again.

"A Pensieve, you mean?"

She shook her head. Extracting memories into a Pensieve had been distinctly uncomfortable the last time she had tried it, and she would prefer not to have to do it again. There were other ways someone such as Snape could see her thoughts, her memories.

"Can't you just... look?" she asked hopefully.

"Legilimency?"

She nodded, and he looked surprised.

"Are you sure?"

"I trust you," she said simply.

"I keep forgetting that part," he murmured, but he turned on the couch a little, folding one long leg up so he could sit facing her.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, Hermione?" he asked again.

She nodded, her throat suddenly feeling dry. He needed to know what had happened that night, if only for his own peace of mind, and she wouldn't deny him that knowledge... and she _did_ trust him.

Taking a deep breath, she looked up into his eyes.

He seemed not to utter a word and his wand was nowhere to be seen, but suddenly she felt that strange prickling at the front of her mind, and knew he was inside her head. She knew nothing of the practical aspects of Legilimency, but she made an effort to focus on the events of that day in late January.

The memory came forward and she felt him take control, moving quickly past the part of the morning he _did_ remember, through her conversation in his sitting room with Harry and back to the bedroom. She could still see his dark eyes in front of her, staring intently into her own, but she could also see the memory playing out before her, as large as life and as vivid as her dreams... her nightmares.

She felt his shock meld with her fear at his first incoherent scream of pain as Harry tried to remove the dagger and the confusion when it didn't come out cleanly. He probed further, watching the rest of the scene, and Hermione could feel her terror as though it was all happening again. A sob escaped her throat as the image momentarily blacked out when the magical shockwave hit her, and she felt Snape reach and grasp her hands, unclenching her fists and allowing them to intertwine with his own fingers instead.

Was it his relief or hers she could feel when she approached the bed and pronounced him alive? She couldn't tell. As she watched herself straighten the bedclothes and wipe the perspiration from his damp forehead as he lay unconscious, mixed feelings of compassion and despair spread throughout her, and she became confused.

Shocked surprise accompanied her discovery that his Dark Mark was gone, and she felt Snape grip her hands more tightly. An inexplicable feeling of yearning that she knew wasn't her own brought tears back to her eyes as she watched Dumbledore re-entered the room, the old man finally breaking down.

The scene changed, then, and random images of the days following spilled forth; her hours of research, sitting beside his bed as he ailed more each day, and the Headmaster's frown as he laid the back of his hand on Snape's head. She thought he would draw away, then, content with knowing what had happened that first night, but he persisted. She felt a flicker of fear as an image of the edge of the Forbidden Forest at sundown came to the forefront of her mind. She tried to draw her eyes away, but found herself pinned by his sharp gaze as he probed further, feeling her fear and seeking its source.

When the moonfilly came into view, she felt his confusion and realised with a sudden start of horror that he was unaware of the scene he was about to witness. He hadn't been angry with her because he hadn't known. Dumbledore had never told him.

Suddenly frightened of what his reaction might be, thinking she had purposely kept it from him, she focused all her strength on breaking the connection between them. The sudden mental struggle distracted him, and the last image that crossed her mind before she was able to tear her eyes away from his was that of the moonfilly's blood trickling into the small phial in her hands. With a soft gasp, she pulled her hands from his and stood up, backing a few steps away from the couch, refusing to meet his gaze again.

"Hermione?" His voice was tight and shaking with rage.

She raised her eyes as far as his chest, rising and falling quickly with his short, angry breaths.

"I thought you knew," she said softly, realising how thoroughly lame it sounded even before the snarl of disgust broke from him.

"If you thought I knew," he hissed, "why are you so intent on keeping me from seeing it?"

She shrank back from him as he rose from the couch, backing until she felt the hard, cold stone of the wall behind her.

"Show me the rest," he demanded, advancing towards her.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice to utter anything more than a whispered, "No."

"I am not _asking_," he snarled. "So help me, Hermione, if you've done what I think you've done."

He stepped closer and she tried to move away, but he grabbed her arm roughly, clasping it in a bruising grip as he forced her to remain where she was.

"Show me," he demanded again.

"You're hurting me, Severus. Let go," she pleaded, tears of fright welling in her eyes.

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, though. She pushed at him with her hands, but in one swift movement he grabbed both her wrists, pinning them to the wall above her head and pushing his body against hers to foil any attempt at escape. With his free hand, he grabbed her chin, forcing it upwards so she would meet his eyes.

"Severus, stop," she sobbed. Her vision was swimming with the tears that were spilling down her cheeks, and he was so close she couldn't look anywhere _but_ into his eyes. She felt the prickling invasion again and tried to push him out. This time, though, he was ready. She gasped as a sudden stab of pain accompanied his forceful entry into her mind, and she felt her memories swirling through her consciousness as he sought what she had denied him before.

She struggled against him, but he was pinning her firmly to the wall, and he tightened his grip painfully on her wrists and chin.

Her vocal pleas choked on her sobs as he followed the memory from the edge of the Forest back to his quarters. When he saw her tipping the phial of blood down his throat, he tore himself from her mind and released her, pushing himself away from her with a snarl of anger.

Her knees refused to hold her and she slid down the rough wall, sinking onto the cold, hard stone of the floor. She wiped her eyes, her mind still spinning from the brutal invasion, and looked up at him.

He was facing away from her, a short distance across the room, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. He hadn't given her a chance to explain, and now he thought she had betrayed his trust. _You have_, a small voice said in the back of her head, and she bit back a sob. She had.

She squeaked in muted terror as, in one swift movement, he sent the teapot hurling into the fireplace, the two cups following shortly afterwards.

He had every right to be angry, but not like this... this vicious, terrifying rage. He had never turned on her like that, never frightened her, never physically hurt her. She had never imagined he would, either.

She could still feel his fingers digging into her chin and she realised, looking down at them, her wrists were bruised from his fierce grip.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" His voice was low, but the anger radiating from him was so palpable that she flinched when he turned back to face her.

"I..." Words failed her. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he spat. "Do you think you can just apologise and everything will be all right? You deliberately and knowingly disobeyed my wishes!"

"I'm sorry that you didn't know; I thought Professor Dumbledore had told you already," she said. "I'm not sorry for what I did."

"What you did?" His voice rose with every syllable. "You mean, taking advantage of the dumb, instinctive wisdom of an innocent creature? Breaking my promise, _my promise_, to the creature and using it to your own ends?"

"My own ends? What was I supposed to do?" she shouted, anger flaring within her at his lack of gratitude. "You were dying!"

"Then you should have let me die!" he roared. "Who are you to judge my life more worthy than the lives of others?"

"What do you mean, lives of others?" she asked in confusion.

He stared at her in disbelief.

"You really have no idea what you've done, do you?"

She stared back at him and he huffed out an angry breath, striding across the room to the bookshelves. Rising hesitantly from her place on the floor, she followed him, flinching again as he spun back to her and shoved his copy of _Moonfillies_ into her hands.

"Page two-seventy-four," he hissed, brushing past her and striding into the lab.

Still shaking, she opened the book to the right page. She hadn't read this far into the chapter on blood before, and upon reading it she realised exactly why he was so angry.

"_The blood of the moonfilly can only be taken with the creature's consent, and then only once in a lifetime. Once a moonfilly has given its most potent gift, the magical properties of its blood, hair and excrement vanish for the remainder of its life."_

She closed the book, set it aside and made her way into the next room. He was sitting at the small, cramped desk, staring at the moon chart on the wall.

"I'm so sorry," she said, and this time the sincerity was clear in her voice. "I truly had no idea."

"That much is evident," he said tightly, not looking at her. "Nevertheless, that old fool knew damn well what the consequences were. He should have told you."

She, too, was angry with Dumbledore, but the damage had already been done by the time he was aware of it; the blood had already been taken. She said as much to Snape, and he scowled deeply.

"Don't tell me you would still have taken it had you known," he scorned.

"Yes, I would have," she said evenly. "It wasn't taken; it was offered. Who am I to deny such a gift?"

"It wasn't your place to accept it."

"Perhaps not," she agreed softly. "But what's done is done. Do you really think I – or the Headmaster – would have let you die when there was a chance to save you?"

He snorted.

"Albus will keep me alive only so long as it suits his plans."

She shook her head. "He _cares_ about you," she insisted. "Can't you see that from what you saw tonight?"

He didn't answer and she reached out for him, resting her hand on his arm.

"Please, Severus," she said. "Don't be like this. I didn't knowingly keep this from you. Professor Dumbledore said he would tell you in good time, and I just assumed you didn't want to discuss it with me."

His eyes flickered briefly in her direction, but he didn't turn his head. She watched him, and though his face remained stoic she could see a myriad of emotions passing behind his dark eyes. Eventually, he stood up, moving past her to the door. He stopped then, and seemed to square his shoulders and take a breath as he turned back to face her.

"We can't do this, Hermione," he said.

"Do what?"

"This," he said, gesturing between them. "Us. It won't work."

"What?" she said. Where had this come from? She stared at him, and she could feel tears of confusion and hurt welling in her eyes. Was he truly so angry that he was going to turn her away?

"I realised tonight how much distress I caused you," he explained. "It's not going to become any easier, in the long run, and I... it's not fair on you."

"I think that should be my decision, not yours," she said waspishly. "What sort of Gryffindor would I be if I abandoned my friends in difficult times?"

Despite all the times he'd playfully mocked her Gryffindor qualities, the joke fell flat, and he merely scowled at her.

"You're free from _him_, anyway," she continued. "The worst part is over."

"Oh, gods, Hermione, wake up," he snapped. "Have you not considered why Albus insists on keeping me hidden, what part I'm going to play when Potter finally faces Voldemort?"

"What do you mean?" She crossed the space between them to stand in front of him, looking up. His dark eyes regarded her, and this time she felt no fear of him invading her mind. He looked defeated.

"Potter may not be strong enough to overcome the Dark Lord outright. He may need a... diversion... to garner the Dark Lord's attention, to cause him to lower his defences."

She watched him, fear crawling into the pit of her stomach.

"It seems I am to be that diversion."

His words hung in the air as her eyes widened in disbelief. After a moment, he looked away and continued.

"The shock of my being alive – wondering how it is possible – may distract the Dark Lord long enough for Potter to kill him. If it doesn't, the Dark Lord won't leave me alive a second time, and he won't take any chances. When he casts the Killing Curse it will give Potter an opening to cast his own when the Dark Lord's back is turned."

"I-" Hermione was dumbfounded. She had truly come to believe that the Headmaster honestly cared about Snape – as a colleague, a friend, almost an adopted son – and she had tried only moments before to convince Snape of it… but Dumbledore didn't care. He was still using Snape purely to his own ends; he'd been happy for his spy to survive because it suited his plans for the future. nothing more.

"Now do you understand?" he said quietly, watching the flood of different emotions cross her face.

"Understand?" she repeated.

"Why we can't-" he began, faltering. "Why _I won't_ allow this to continue between us."

"No! I don't understand!" she exclaimed, then took a deep breath, saying more quietly, "I thought we were in this together."

His face was expressionless as he said, "Whatever you thought, it was wrong."

"Wait, you don't mean that," she pleaded, grabbing his arm as he made to turn away from her.

"Yes, I do," he countered firmly, his eyes fixed on a spot over her head. "You said it yourself – you're a distraction, nothing more."

She saw the pained expression on his face, but somehow the words hurt even more knowing he _didn't_ truly mean them.

"It's for the best," he added quietly, pushing her hand away and folding his arms across his chest.

"Bugger what's best!" she exclaimed angrily. "It's not what you want and it most certainly isn't what I want."

"Don't presume to tell me what I want," he hissed, but the fight seemed to be going out of his voice, so she persisted. He watched her warily as she stepped forward, laying her hand on his folded arms.

"I don't know why you feel you have to do this, Severus, but please don't," she said softly. "You couldn't push me away before – when I barely knew you – and I won't allow you to do it now, not for my sake, not for anything, not now that I... I..."

"You what, Hermione? You love me?" he sneered, the endearment sounding harsh and cruel on his lips. "Is that what you were going to say? How perfectly Gryffindor of you, not to mention naïve. Do you really imagine there to be such a thing as happily ever after where I'm concerned?"

She stepped back and pulled her hand away, stung by his words.

"I don't know if it's love," she said quietly, staring at the rough stones below their feet. "It's certainly not something I've felt before, and I can't just... just turn it off. I might be young, but I'm not stupid enough to think both of us – _either_ of us – will survive this war unscathed. Ever after isn't anyone's concern in these times; we only have here and now."

She could feel him staring at the top of her head, and when he didn't say anything for a minute she looked up hopefully, only to see his face twist in a cruel smirk.

"So," he said softly, "only concerned with here and now, are we?"

He took half a step towards her so she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze.

"Do you want me, Hermione?" he said in a low voice. "All of me?"

He pulled him against her, hard, but it wasn't exciting as it had been the previous times he'd done so. After his actions in the other room, she felt a flicker of fear in her chest. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the firmness of his chest pressed against her, and...

She gasped in a mixture of surprise and fear as his erection dug into her stomach.

"Yes," he whispered, his breath hot in her ear and he leaned down. "We both want it, so consequences be damned."

Her eyes had inadvertently slipped shut, but they snapped open at his last words and she tried to draw back to look at him but he held her fast, his arm clamped around her waist.

"What…?"

"You talk about here and now," he hissed in her ear. "Have you even considered the consequences for you, should anyone find out?"

"If you're talking about Dumbledore," she tried to reason, shifting uncomfortably against him, "the only issue he had was you being a teacher, and that is no longer a problem."

"No, I'm talking about you," he replied, loosening his grip just enough that she could lean back and see his face. His eyes were dark fire, a mixture of anger and lust that frightened her. "You know what part I'm going to play in the rest of the war now, and yet you still persist. You know what the outcome is more than likely to be. What will you do then?"

"I'll worry about that if – not when – it comes to pass," she insisted, her voice shaking. "We have time. We can find another way to distract Voldemort... and if we can't..." She took a deep breath. "Don't you want to make the most of the time we have?"

"Yes, let's," he leered, pulling her close again despite her reluctance. "Will you let me take you to bed now, Hermione, or can't you even wait that long? How about right here? Isn't that what you want?"

She struggled from his grasp, placing her hands on his chest and pushing him away, tears welling in her eyes again.

"No... not like this," she said, shaken by his aggressiveness. "Why are you being like this?"

"Because it's pointless, Hermione!" he exploded. "Pointless tying yourself to a man who may as well already be dead."

"I refuse to believe that," she countered, struggling to keep her voice even. "We'll find another way."

"There _is_ no other way," he spat. "Go back to your friends, find someone with a better life expectancy to attached yourself to – Potter or Weasley, if you feel you must. Live your life, have a houseful of Gryffindors-to-be, if that's what you want."

"Harry and Ron are like brothers to be," she retorted, her own voice now tight and angry at his insinuation. "And if I ever decided to have children – note I said _if_, not _when_ – there is only one man who I'd want to father them."

Her voice softened as she left little doubt she was talking about him, but instead of it abating his temper, as she had hoped, it only made it worse.

"Oh, would you like something to remember me by? Is that it?" he sneered. "Something to show the world as proof not everything in my pathetic existence ended in ruin?"

"No, I-" she cried, but he cut her off.

"Having my child would be no bed of roses, Hermione," he continued, his face contorting in a mixture of rage and pain. "It would be condemned if it bore my name, and you would be ridiculed if it didn't. Will your friends stand by you when I no longer can? Are you willing to give up the prime of your life to raise the bastard son of a dead traitor?"

_SMACK!_

She slapped him with everything she had in her; her anger gave her strength, and the blow sent him reeling, his head snapping to the side as he grasped at the doorframe to stop himself from falling completely.

Mortified by his cruel words and her uncharacteristic reaction, she backed away from him. He regained his composure and stared at her, her handprint bright red on his pale skin, the look in his eyes feral. Terrified he would retaliate, she fled. He was blocking the sitting room door, so she used the only other means of escape available to her: the dark passage and stairwell leading to the Potions classroom and the dungeons.

* * *

To be continued 

_Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! As always, you can find the next chapter at OWL. Please observe the warning if you venture over there to read it... owl dot tauri dot org  
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	30. In the Dungeons

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_Warning: This chapter contains physical violence that may disturb some readers._

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* * *

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**Chapter 30**

Severus Snape stared at the door through which Hermione had disappeared some minutes earlier. At any moment, he expected it to open softly, revealing her standing there, calm and collected as she always was when his temper flared. She had an uncanny knack for being able to placate him even in the worst of his moods.

But the door didn't open.

It might as well have been a solid stone wall for all the distance it symbolised between them.

The sense of loss that hit him was so tangible it was like a blow to the guts, more painful than his stinging cheek. He had done it this time; she would not be coming back.

Turning from the empty lab, he strode across the sitting room to the cupboard beside the bookshelves. Retrieving his bottle of Firewhisky and a glass, he slammed them both down on the coffee table and threw himself into an armchair, ignoring the liquor and staring into the glowing embers of the dying fire.

Echoes of a day some twenty-three years ago were running through his head; the scene was infinitely different, the result disturbingly familiar.

_"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"_

"…_filthy little Mudbloods…"_

_Mudblood._

It was one of the last words he had spoken to a young girl who'd been his closest friend in his student years. He'd done the one thing he had always prided himself in _not_ doing – he had succumbed to the pureblood ideals of his family and his housemates. He'd called her a Mudblood; the worst possible insult.

The following two years of frosty silence, of her turning a blind eye even when her newfound Gryffindor friends tried to trick him to his death, had been the proverbial nail in his coffin. His solitude and bitterness had allowed him to give in to the lures of the Dark Arts, ultimately driving him to Voldemort, and Lily to her death.

He hadn't loved her - or if he had, only as a friend - but their friendship had been golden to him while it lasted. Built on common interests, a yearning for knowledge and intelligence beyond their years, they both understood what it was like to feel out of place. None of his housemates – or hers, for that matter – could ever comprehend what they saw in one another; their friendship defied all the unspoken Slytherin House rules about associating with both Gryffindors and Muggle-borns, but he didn't care. He, with his patched robes and greying underwear, would never fit in with the rich aristocrats of Slytherin, anyway.

She used to defend him against that group of Gryffindors, and they tormented him all the more for it. Even his own housemates jeered at the Slytherin who needed a Gryffindor – and a girl, no less – to stand up for him.

He was already angry that day after their Defence OWL. Usually, after exams, they sat down together and dissected their answers, teasing each other over the silliest mistakes and wagering who would get the higher mark. Today, though, she went to sit by the lake with her housemates, leaving him alone with his exam paper, and at the mercy of four bored Gryffindors who were looking for some cheap entertainment.

He gave as good as he got – as always – but when she stepped in to defend him yet again, his temper flared, ending their friendship with a single word.

Of all the things he had done since then, in the name of the Dark Lord and the Order, it was still that lone word he regretted most of all because, in a way, it had been the catalyst for everything else, the turning point in his life.

And yet, what he'd said to Hermione tonight was infinitely worse. He'd never insulted her for her bloodline; he'd learnt his lesson well and, at any rate, her intelligence proved all theories of the superiority of purebloods wrong.

Instead, he'd used the one thing he knew _would_ hurt her – her feelings for him.

Her reaction had only confirmed what he already knew… what he had almost begun to fear… what she had told him these past weeks in everything but words. She loved him.

She loved him, and he had said the most unimaginably cruel thing he could think of. Was it any wonder she had hit him?

That wasn't to mention his actions earlier in the evening. She'd allowed him free access to her mind, her thoughts and her feelings; it was absolute proof of unshaken, unshakeable trust in him, and what had he done in return? He had violated her mind in an action almost akin to rape; the comparison made him feel sick to the stomach. Even in his blind anger, how could he have been so inexplicably stupid? He'd hurt her - he felt her shock and betrayal as he pushed his way into her mind - but he hadn't cared.

Did he really believe she would have kept it from him had she known the consequences of her actions? Now that he could think straight, he doubted so. He recalled her surprised expression when she learnt how little Dumbledore had told him of the events of that week. Had she assumed the Headmaster had told him what had happened? Had Albus told Hermione _he_ would explain it?

Snape snorted. He wouldn't put it past the Headmaster to have kept it from him on purpose.

And he had blamed Hermione.

His actions had been enough to drive her from him for good, but it hadn't. He had to admire her courage to even _try_ to reason with him after that. And yet, when she had apologised so sincerely, angry as he still was, he couldn't help but believe her.

The thing that had rattled him most of all, and caused him to speak so cruelly to her in the end, was seeing her thoughts of that week and feeling the pain he had caused her. He knew she'd been upset – as she would be were any of her friends so gravely ill – but he hadn't expected to feel the absolute helplessness and despair which had accompanied her memories.

It had disturbed him, in truth, that she had come to care for him so much. Merlin knew he felt the same way for her; he couldn't even begin to explain how _that_ had come about, but perhaps it was better left intangible and uninspected. Not everything could be explained in words, after all.

The more he thought on what would soon come to pass – the end of the war – and the role Dumbledore wanted him to play, the more he berated himself for letting Hermione get so close to him. It had always been possible he might die in the service of the Order, but now it seemed all but a certainty. For her to think, to even _suppose_, there would be any sort of future for them had only increased his anger at her naivety.

He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and kiss her when she told him he was the only man she wanted to father her children. He had never wanted it – never even considered it – until that moment, but he knew it would never happen. So, pushing aside the disturbing ache of longing just to hold her to him, he sought instead to hurt and frighten her enough to drive her from him for good. If he hurt her enough now, it would be easier for her in the end.

He hadn't expected her to slap him in a parting shot, though it was more than deserved. He hated what he had done and even now it occurred to him that pushing someone away wasn't always for the best. If he'd never called Lily a Mudblood... who knew what twisted course Fate would have taken. Would she have lived?

He shook his head, purging the image of a young, red-haired, green-eyed woman from his mind only for it to be replaced with another young woman, looking at him with the same hurt in her eyes.

_It's for her own good_, he told himself bitterly, but even as he thought it, uncertainty was creeping into his mind. Could he honestly say, now he was thinking straight, that this was the best thing for both of them? If the truth was known, she'd been a breath of fresh air in his stale existence these past few months. Life – however short it turned out to be – would be incredibly dull without her around.

_What have I done?_

He leant forwards and finally unstoppered the Firewhisky, pouring a generous amount into the glass. Sitting back and taking a long, slow sip of the burning liquid, he realised he'd been listening for the sound of a door, the sound of her returning.

A low growl of anger and frustration escaped his throat, and he tightened his grip on the glass, contemplating the explosion it would make if he flung it into the fire.

He took a deep breath and set it on the table, instead. Enough anger had been vented for one night.

Whether he would be able to make amends for it, though, remained to be seen. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't go to her; she would have to come to him.

And the chances of that happening seemed next to none.

* * *

Hermione ran blindly, tears of hurt and anger pouring down her face as she fled through the dark corridor leading to the Potions classroom and the dungeon.

She was angry at the Headmaster for not telling Snape about the moonfilly _in good time_, as he had said he would; she should have known better than to trust his reassurance. She was angry at herself for not insisting _she_ be the one to explain it, but she'd been afraid of Snape's wrath, and with good reason.

The way he'd turned on her upon seeing that first glimpse of the moonfilly in her memory had been terrifying, but it paled in comparison to the rest of their argument. How could he be so heartless, so cruel, as to treat her feelings for him like there were nothing, like she could turn them off at will?

His final words had shocked and hurt her, that he would say something so harsh and cruel as to turn her away from him for good. They would have, too, had she not seen the pain in his eyes as he spoke. Even through his livid rage, she could see the loathing of what he was forcing himself to do.

The realisation that he was trying to turn her away for her own well-being hurt even more, though. Did he think she was so young and naïve that she'd attached herself to him blindly, unmindful of the likely consequences? She was a best friend of the young man who would have to defeat Voldemort or die trying; did Snape really believe she had never considered the possibility of losing a friend?

How could he be so undeniably cruel, then turn around and say it was for her own good?

The slap was a wake-up call as much an expression of her anger. She loved him, no matter what happened in the future, yet he refused to acknowledge it, refused to _allow_ her to keep loving him, though it was clear the feeling was mutual. If she'd been less shocked at her handprint on his face, she would have shouted at him to take her and her feelings seriously.

But she daren't have stayed, not after his violent reaction to lesser provocation earlier in the night.

Until then, she had never honestly believed he was capable of all the things she'd seen him do in Dumbledore's Pensieve all those months ago. It was as though she'd been watching a puppet, someone who looked like him, but was nothing like the Professor Snape she'd known at that time, or the Severus she'd come to know.

She hated herself for being afraid of him when all he'd ever done in the past was protect her, but tonight he was a different man. Tonight, she believed him capable of anything.

And so she fled.

She should have known better than to push him when he had tried to end their... could she even call it a relationship yet? Whatever it was, she should have kept her mouth shut and just worked on him slowly, chipping away at his resolve until he realised he'd been mistaken in pushing her away. _That would have been the Slytherin thing to do,_ she thought.

It was too late for that, now, though. Even if he could forgive her for keeping the truth of the moonfilly blood from him, he'd never forgive her for slapping him. Despite his cruelty, it had been an immature reaction on her part, proving she was just as young and naïve as he had implied.

She stopped to catch her breath and gather her bearings. She had run blindly all the way to the dungeons, and was standing in a short, unfamiliar corridor somewhere off the main dungeon hallway. A small, choked sob escaped her and echoed in the emptiness of the slumbering castle; she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, wondering where to go now.

She couldn't go back to Gryffindor Tower, red-eyed and shaking, her wrists still marked from Snape's unyielding grip. Harry would get the truth out of her if he saw her like this – and so help Snape when he did. She couldn't face Ron either, imagining his superior expression that he had been right about 'that git' all along. The thought of Ron's reaction made her tears come anew, because despite Snape having been an absolute git tonight, she couldn't bring herself to hate him.

He had broken her trust, breaking into her mind uninvited, but she was to blame for him not knowing what he sought in the first place. He had hurt her – her wrists and chin felt bruised from his grasp – but she had hurt him, too. He had spoken cruelly, but had done so with her best interests at heart, however misguided his judgement of those interests were.

She turned around and leant against the wall of the corridor, pressing her forehead against the cool stones. The whole night had been a mess of misunderstanding, the wrong words spoken and the right words left unsaid.

She had no idea how to go about making things right, though. She daren't return to his quarters alone... if he would let her in at all. He might have calmed down, but then again he might not have...

She could go to the Headmaster. He was the last person she really wanted to talk to at the moment, given he was partially the cause of the whole situation, but there was no one else, really.

She couldn't go to her friends, and McGonagall would take one look at her puffy eyes and bruised chin and promptly march down to Snape's quarters to castrate him. Her Head of House was unaware of anything other than friendship between them, but she was also protective of her charges and would hex first and ask questions later.

No, it seemed Dumbledore was the only option.

With a sigh, she pulled her blouse cuffs down a little to hide the red marks on her wrist and turned around to find her way out of the dungeons.

Before she could take a step, though, two figures materialised from the shadows, blocking her path.

She stared at Crabbe and Goyle, and as they smirked nastily at her, she realised her grievous error. It was late at night, well after curfew, and she was alone in the Slytherin dungeons... alone but for the two students – sons of Death Eaters, no less – advancing on her like wolves moving in for the kill.

Malfoy's warning rang in her ears, and she started backing away.

"Nowhere to run, little Mudblood," Crabbe called in a false, singsong voice.

Her back hit the stone wall and she glanced left and right, realising they had cornered her in a dead end.

She went for her wand, but Crabbe already had his out. Hers slipped through her fingers at his muttered spell, and he snatched it out of mid-air, shoving it in the back pocket of his pants.

"Give it back," she said, knowing how feeble it sounded even as she spoke.

The two Slytherins laughed.

"I don't think so," said Goyle, advancing on her while Crabbe hung back, watching.

She tried to think of wandless spells that might hold them off, but none that came to mind that were strong enough to subdue one, let alone two, almost fully-grown wizards.

"What do you want?" she asked, moving into a corner of the dead end. Goyle followed her movement slowly, deliberately.

"Well," he said at length. "I have some unfinished business with you."

Her eyes widened as she recalled their last altercation in the dungeons – the one so thankfully interrupted by the Potions master – and her heart started beating faster with fear at the feral look of anticipation shining in Goyle's eyes.

"You don't want to do that," she said, trying to sound brave, even though she was wandless, helpless and downright terrified.

"Oh, but I do," Goyle leered, stepping closer to her. His face hardened as he added, "And this time, that bastard traitor Snape isn't here to stop us."

He made a sudden grab for her, and she twisted away, trying to duck under his outstretched arm. He caught her, though, slamming her back into the wall, and she cried out as her head hit the rough stones. Her vision blurred momentarily as the Slytherin braced her against the wall, the weight of his body pinning her, and she heard the other one speak.

"Careful," Crabbe warned. "The Dark Lord wants her alive and unspoilt, remember?"

"Unspoilt," Goyle spat. "We're not taking her to him until I've gotten what I want. She'll be alive; that should be enough for him."

Her terror increased a thousandfold as she realised what they meant to do with her, both here and now, and afterwards. She had to get away.

"Let me go!" she yelled as loudly as she could, and the sound travelled far in the stillness of the castle. Maybe someone would hear her. She struggled desperately against the weight pinning her body to the wall, balling up her fists and hitting the Slytherin wherever she could reach.

"Hold her!" she heard Goyle say as he fought to control her, and then her wrists were yanked high above her head, pinned by another set of hands as Crabbe came to help his friend. With the two of them holding her down, movement was impossible, let alone escape.

"Why are you doing this?" she pleaded.

"Because I can," Goyle spat, bringing his hand up between them to fondle her breasts crudely through her shirt and open robes. "Because you're a Mudblood and you deserve nothing better than a quick fuck in a dark corner."

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks, but she could hold back neither the whimper of fear that escaped her lips, nor the shudder of revulsion that ran through her as he touched her.

She heard Goyle laugh.

"Don't cry, little Mudblood," he said, his breath hot and foul on her face. "If you don't fight me, I won't hurt you... much."

She let herself sag against the wall a little. Perhaps she could trick him into thinking she was giving in, and then get away when he lowered his defences. She felt him relax his grip a little, and then shuffle slightly against her and he grasped her wrists and Crabbe backed away.

"There's a good Mudblood," he said, and she opened her eyes as he took his attention from her for a moment to say to Crabbe, "Have you got the Portkey?"

So, that's how they were going to get her away from the castle. With his attention diverted, she wondered if throwing all her weight forwards suddenly would knock him off balance? She hesitated, though, seeing Crabbe fumbling in the pockets of his trousers.

"Shit," he cursed. "It's in my bloody robes, back in the common room."

Hope blossomed in her chest as Goyle cursed at his friend. "Go and get it, and hurry up, you idiot! If anyone finds us here, we're dead."

Crabbe lumbered off into the darkness and Goyle turned back to Hermione. His attention was fully back on her, but he was one alone, now, and she had no intention of giving up without a fight.

In one swift movement, she yanked her wrists from his grasp and shoved all her weight against him, clawing at his face with her nails.

He recoiled from her with a howl of pain, angry scratches across his cheeks. She pushed past him into the open corridor, but he spun around, grabbing her robes as she fled to prevent her escape.

She tried to shrug out of them, but then he grasped her arms, twisting them behind her back and threw her to the floor, coming down on top of her with the full force of his heavyset frame. She landed awkwardly; her head hit the stones with a crack that saw white spots dancing in her vision, and a sharp pain shot through her chest and shoulder as she felt something break.

She gasped out a startled exclamation as Goyle shifted his weight and rolled her roughly onto her back, hovering over her with his knees on either side of her hips.

Her vision was blurry from tears, and pain was shooting through her shoulder, but she still had the presence of mind to fight. She struggled underneath him, trying to use her good arm to gain some leverage and throw him off, but he grabbed it and pinned it to the floor next to her head.

"I told you fighting would only make this harder," he hissed, thrusting his hips at her as the full meaning of the double entendre hit her. Laughing cruelly at her vain struggles, he leant forwards and licked the side of her face.

She turned her head away with a choked sob.

_This can't be happening_.

If she could just delay him a bit longer, maybe someone would come... _Maybe Severus will come_... She knew it was a futile wish. He couldn't help her now, but the thought of him gave her strength to keep fighting.

Pinned, wandless and injured as she was, she did the only thing she could think of.

She spat at him.

He recoiled, disgusted, and then his face hardened.

"Filthy little bitch!" he spat, and released her arm only to backhand her hard across the face.

Her head snapped to the side and she could taste blood in her mouth, but all she could think was that her hands were free. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she brought both hands up to claw at his face again, her nails gouging his eyes and leaving a bloody trail down his cheeks.

A vicious snarl of anger escaped his lips and he shoved her hands aside, leaning down over her and pinning his forearm across her neck. She gasping at the sudden crushing pressure, and her hands came up to try to pry his arm away, but he was too heavy.

With his free hand, he shoved her open robes aside and grasped the collar of her blouse, ripping it open in one swift movement.

She tried to scream, but the pressure on her throat wouldn't allow it.

He shifted his weight down and she felt her skirt being pushed above her hips. Her terrified sobs echoed in the empty corridor and she was starting to feel faint from lack of oxygen. Desperately, she clawed at him again, scratching hands, arms, face... any piece of exposed skin she could reach.

Suddenly, she felt his wand pressing into her neck.

"You need to learn when to say die, Mudblood," he hissed, and his eyes flashed as he malevolently whispered a single word.

"_Crucio_."

A harsh scream tore from her lips as a wave of agony like nothing she'd ever experienced before shot through her. She gasped and choked, trying to draw air into her burning lungs, and then screamed again.

He released the spell as quickly as it had begun, and removed his hand from her neck, too. She lay limply beneath him, gasping feebly for air, her arms shaking uncontrollably in the aftermath of the curse.

"An Unforgivable?" she heard a voice say. Crabbe had returned.

"Are you mad? Dumbledore probably knows it's been cast already! He could be on his way down here now!"

"Well, I better hurry, then," Goyle spat.

This was it. This was her last chance to get away.

Summoning all her waning strength, she jerked her whole body sideways and pushed against him with her hands. He had reached down to free himself from his pants, and he was off-balance when her surprise movement came. He fell sideways and she scrambled to her feet, swaying slightly as dizziness threatened to overcome her. She was still trapped, and now they were both advancing on her, Crabbe with the Portkey in hand.

She slid down the wall, clasping her robe over her torn shirt and in a last ploy for mercy, sobbed, "Leave me, please."

Goyle raised his wand, and she closed her eyes.

Not a word was spoken, and then she heard two loud thuds as something hit the floor close to her.

Opening her eyes, she saw the bulk of the two Slytherins on the floor before her, Stunned.

She stood shakily, staring into the darkness of the corridor beyond. She could see a figure coming closer, but her vision was filling with black spots even as she blinked to clear them.

"Granger?"

"Wha-"

She recognised the voice, but then her knees buckled underneath her and the darkness swallowed her whole.

* * *

The first sensation Hermione felt when she awoke was pain; it was sharpest in her shoulder and at the back of her head, but her whole body was aching with exhaustion.

It was dark, and she tried to move, only to have hands push her down again. She struggled against them and the pain in her shoulder became worse. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out; she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of letting them know they had hurt her.

Then, the cool wash of a spell swept over her and the pain suddenly lessened to merely a dull ache. Someone shifted a hand behind her head, and a second spell reduced the pain there, too.

Confused by the gentle gesture, she stopped fighting and let herself relax, feeling soft pillows behind her head.

Where was she?

She could hear voices nearby, but she couldn't understand what they were saying. Perhaps they were planning what to do with her next.

Someone tried to grasp her hand, and she tore it away with a cry of fright. She couldn't let them hold her down; she had to get away.

She tried to sit up, but was stopped again by those same hands on her shoulders.

"No," she heard herself whimper. "Please, let me go."

One voice drew closer and became more urgent. Finally able to focus on it, she realised it was the Headmaster speaking.

Wait… if Dumbledore was there, did that mean she was safe? Or was it just a cruel trick of her captors?

She felt a glass phial being pressed to her lips, and shied away from whatever they were trying to give her. Then, a cool, gnarled hand resting on her forehead and she felt herself become calm again. Perhaps it really was Dumbledore... but why couldn't she see him?

The phial was pressed to her lips again, and this time she accepted it, opening her mouth and swallowing the contents with some difficulty; her throat seemed tight and sore.

She recognised the taste of a sleeping potion mixed with Calming Draught, and a false sense of peace washed over her. Suddenly too tired to care that it wasn't real, that she was still frightened and confused, she tried to close her eyes.

It was only then she realised they'd been closed all along, clenched shut against whatever horror might have been awaiting her. The potion took hold, though, and before she could think any further, she drifted back into oblivion.

* * *

The harsh green flare of the Floo was bright as Snape sat in the near-darkness of his sitting room. The bottle of Firewhisky was still on the table, surprisingly untouched. The half-empty glass that had been saved from destruction earlier was still full, too. He usually savoured the sharp, bitter tang of his favourite drink, but tonight it offered no comfort at all.

He glanced at the fireplace, the faintest hope that it might be Hermione failing as the Headmaster stepped out in a swirl of midnight-blue robes.

"You have a lot to answer for, old man," he said, before the Headmaster could speak. "How could keep that from me, knowing what it meant? How could you not tell _her_ what it meant?"

Dumbledore seemed to realise what Snape was referring to, because he sat down in the unoccupied armchair with a sigh. "Severus, there are more important things we must discuss tonight."

"If you've come to berate me," he said, "save your breath. I was angry and thoughtless and I know very well what I've done."

He looked up at Dumbledore to see a confused look cross his face. The Headmaster looked particularly weary as of late, but even more so tonight.

"I'm not sure I understand you, Severus," he said carefully.

"Oh, come on, Albus," Snape scoffed. "Do you mean to tell me she didn't come to you and declare me the complete and utter bastard her friends have been telling her I am all along?"

Dumbledore exhaled a weary breath.

"You had an argument, then," the old man said quietly.

Snape snorted and set his glass back on the table. "Argument is an understatement. The moonfilly was only the beginning of it."

"She was upset when she left?"

"I doubt I could have hurt her more had I used my fists, Albus," he admitted.

"That explains why she was in the dungeons, then," Dumbledore said softly.

Snape looked up at the Headmaster, suddenly registering the odd tone of voice.

"Albus, why are you here?"

Dumbledore sat forwards, his hands clasped together in front of him as he regarded Snape gravely.

"There has been an... incident," he said at length.

Snape stared at him, a sudden feeling of foreboding in his chest.

"What kind of incident?" he whispered.

The older man sighed, looking immensely weary. "Miss Granger was in the dungeons and was... set upon... by two other students. They assaulted her and were in possession of a Portkey which I believe was supposed to transport her to Voldemort."

_No._

Snape rose from his chair, his eyes fixed on the Headmaster. His throat felt tight, and he had to swallow before he could speak.

"Albus," he finally managed to croak. "Where is she-"

The Headmaster held up his hand. "Miss Granger is safe. She is in the Hospital Wing."

He turned from the Headmaster, everything he'd said to Hermione earlier that night running through his head. She'd fled his quarters because of his horrible words – fled to the dungeons without thinking of the danger that lurked there. If they'd hurt her, how could he forgive himself?

"Who?" he said at last, his voice shaking. "Who did it?"

"Messrs Crabbe and Goyle," Dumbledore said softly.

Snape might have known. Two of the three Slytherins who had trapped her in the dungeons once before, only that time he'd been able to step in.

"Did they hurt her?" he asked hollowly.

"Their instructions were to take her to Voldemort alive and unspoilt," the Headmaster said heavily, "but she fought them, naturally. Poppy is looking after her, and she will be all right."

"How did she get away?"

"She didn't," the Headmaster replied. "From what I have deduced thus far, they were happened upon by Mr Malfoy on his nightly rounds."

"Malfoy?" Snape echoed, thinking back to the boy's confusing behaviour lately and Hermione's concerns about him following her. _He_ thought the young Slytherin might have been genuinely trying to extend a hand of friendship to her, but he could have been wrong; he had been wrong before. "How do you know he wasn't part of it?"

"I don't know anything for certain just yet, Severus," Dumbledore said tiredly. "An Auror and a representative of the Board of Governors are on their way, and there is much to discuss. Messrs Crabbe and Goyle will not spend another night in this school, I can assure you, but the motives and fate of Mr Malfoy are far from clear."

They sat in silence for a moment, and then the Headmaster rose from his chair.

"I must be getting back to my office, Severus," he said. "I will inform you of more details when I am able."

Snape rose, too.

"Albus, I need to see her."

The Headmaster regarded him for some time without a word, and Snape spoke again if only to fill the silence.

"I was unforgivably harsh to her earlier. What has happened tonight – her being in the dungeons at all – is a direct result of my actions. I…" He sighed. "I need to make amends."

"There will be time for that, my boy," the Headmaster reassured him. "Don't forget our subterfuge is not yet over. You will have to wait until she comes to you."

"Albus," he pressed, "this isn't something that can wait. I don't expect her forgiveness, but if I am to salvage anything at all I must act now."

"Be that as it may, Severus, _you must not be seen_," Dumbledore said, the warning tone ringing clear in his voice. "You will not defy me on this. You _cannot_."

Snape sighed and slumped back into his seat in resignation. "I know."

"Hermione will understand," the old man said. "I will see that she comes to speak to you as soon as she is able."

He grunted noncommittally.

"Severus," the Headmaster said, his voice softening a little, "I may pretend to be omniscient at times, but I cannot claim to know what has happened between you. I can only ask, whatever you did, was it for her well-being?"

"I thought it was," he said quietly. "I meant it to be... but the way I went about it was all wrong and... perhaps it was just wrong to begin with."

"Then she will understand," Dumbledore said. "You'll see, my boy."

Snape looked at the old man doubtfully, but the Headmaster merely took a pinch of Floo powder from the mantle and disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

Snape sat forwards and buried his head in his hands.

* * *

When Hermione woke again, she did open her eyes, and her vision focused on the bright stone ceiling of the Hospital Wing. A figure leant over her and she recognised Madam Pomfrey.

"Welcome back, dear," the mediwitch said kindly. "You've had a rough night."

She remembered waking up earlier, confused, thinking she was still in the hands of her captors... had she been, and only found her way here afterwards? Or had she been dreaming? How _had_ she come to be here?

Her mind went back to the attack in the dungeons, and then to her earlier argument with Snape. Did he know what had happened? Or was he so angry with her that he didn't care? She tried to sit up, tears welling in her eyes because she could imagine his cold, indifferent expression when Dumbledore told him what had happened.

Madam Pomfrey pushed her back down onto the pillows with gentle but firm hands. She tried to push the mediwitch away, but found she could only move one arm; her right was strapped firmly against her torso and held in a sling.

"What-"

"It's all right, dear," Pomfrey soothed. "Nothing to worry about now. I've mended the break, but you should keep that sling on for a few days so it can fully heal."

Recollection of how she'd injured it came into her mind – Goyle throwing her to the stone floor, and then his weight coming down on top of her. Tears spilt down her cheeks as she remembered, and the mediwitch, seeing her distress, dropped her matronly manner, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What- what did they do to me?" she managed to whisper. "Did they... did he..."

"No, dear," Pomfrey said reassuringly, and then pursed her lips, adding tersely, "I don't know how those young boys could even think of…"

"They didn't think," Hermione said, recalling the feral look in Goyle's eyes, unrelenting even when she had pleaded with him to stop. "They just…"

"Yes, well," said the mediwitch, "they didn't, thankfully, and they won't have the opportunity to try again. Headmaster Dumbledore will see to that, I can assure you."

She raised her uninjured hand to wipe her eyes and realised there was something sticky spread across her cheek. She pulled her hand away and examined the thick yellow bruise-healing paste, then reached up again to probe her cheek, wincing as she pressed too hard.

"That won't help it," Pomfrey scolded, standing up from the edge of the bed again and smoothing the covers. "You've got more than a few bumps and bruises, so just let the salve do its work."

The mediwitch stepped out past the screen surrounding the bed, and Hermione heard her walking to the other end of the room. Her heart was pulsing a slow, painful rhythm in the back of her head, but she ignored it and managed to prop herself up on the pillows with some difficultly.

When she pushed the sheet aside to examine the rest of her body, her knees, visible beneath the hem of the plain cotton hospital gown, were scratched and bruised. She pulled the hem up a little to reveal two large bruises, almost in the shape of handprints, on her thighs. There was no salve on those, and for that she was grateful. She didn't think she could bear the thought of anyone touching her there after...

She choked back a sob; she could still feel the weight of the Slytherin pinning her down, his hands bruising her as she fought him. Her robe was draped over the end of the bed, and she could see her torn, buttonless shirt underneath it. She had been so lucky to get away.

She lay back again and pulled the sheet up as best she could with one arm. Try as she might, she couldn't remember how she had finally escaped them.

A chink of glass alerted her to the mediwitch's return, and she set a flask and two phials down on the small beside cabinet.

"How did I get away?" she asked softly.

"That is for Professor Dumbledore to tell you, dear," Pomfrey said, adding as she saw Hermione about to protest, "I don't even know myself."

"Where is the Headmaster?"

"He is meeting with the two boys, their parents, a representative from the Board of Governors and an Auror," Pomfrey said briskly. "I daresay he will be a while, but I'm sure he will return to speak with you as soon as he is able."

"Governors? An Auror?" She asked, surprised. "Are they going to be expelled?"

"This is a very serious matter, Miss Granger," the mediwitch said, pouring a small amount of the purple potion from the flask to the empty phial. "Both young men are of age and therefore subject to the full power of the law. They will be lucky to escape Azkaban, let alone be able to remain at this school."

Hermione nodded, thinking. Voldemort would be furious with them, not only for having failed to deliver her, but at getting themselves expelled, eliminating any opportunity they might have had to try it again.

_Good_, she thought savagely. _They deserve everything they have coming to them_.

"Now," said Madam Pomfrey, holding up the phial of clear liquid. "This is a pain-killing potion, which you may take for your arm or your head, if you need it. This," she held up the purple potion, "is a mild sleeping draught, which you should take in a moment, but there is someone here to see you first."

Her heart leapt in her chest, thinking Severus had come, but then she realised he couldn't, even if he had wanted to. Madam Pomfrey didn't know he was alive, and the Headmaster would be furious if he left his rooms without permission.

The mediwitch left the phials on the cabinet as Harry stepped around the screen at the end of her bed.

"Don't stay too long; she needs her rest," Madam Pomfrey cautioned him, before leaving them alone. Hermione heard the door to her office close a moment later.

Wordlessly, Harry came and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her with grave, concerned eyes. She returned the gaze for a moment and then burst into tears, letting out everything she'd been trying to hold back since she awoke.

Harry leant forwards and wrapped his arms around her, mindful of her injured shoulder, and she sobbed into his robe, realising it had been thrown on hastily over his pyjamas.

"God, Hermione," he said, drawing back a little as her sobs finally died down. "Are you all right? What were you doing down there? They were going to... bloody hell, they could have killed you if they'd gotten you away from the castle!"

"I- I was-" She stumbled over her words. She couldn't tell him what had caused her to be wandering the dungeon corridors so late at night. "I don't know. How did I get away from them?"

"Malfoy found you," he said oddly. "He followed Crabbe, found you and Goyle, and Stunned both of them just before Dumbledore showed up."

"I heard someone say _Stupefy_ just before I passed out," she recalled suddenly. "I thought one of them was Stunning me."

Harry nodded and they were silent for a moment.

"Did Malfoy get the Headmaster?" she asked, and Harry shook his head.

She frowned in confusion. "How did he know what was happening, then?"

Harry took her hands in his and said tightly, "He has wards on the castle to alert him to the casting of certain spells. The curse Goyle cast on you set them off."

The Cruciatus. How could she have forgotten?

"Oh, Harry," she said, remembering he, too, had experienced the curse. "How could you stand it from Voldemort? Goyle's must have been weak compared to his, but it was still like... I don't even know how to describe it."

He nodded, squeezing her hands a little more tightly.

"I suppose I should consider myself lucky that's the worst they did," she added, feeling anything _but_ lucky.

"I don't understand Malfoy," Harry said after a long, thoughtful silence. "It just doesn't make sense. He's been acting so strange, lately."

She regarded her friend, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She recalled a conversation with Snape some months ago about Malfoy's strange behaviour, but then her mind moved on to something else.

"Harry!" she exclaimed softly. "Does Severus know what's happened?"

He shrugged and said, "I think Dumbledore went to tell him while he was waiting for the Governors. Why?"

"You have to tell him," she said urgently. "You have to tell him I'm-"

"-all right, yes," Harry said reassuringly. "I'm sure he knows you're okay, Hermione."

"No," she said, biting back a sob. "Harry, you have to tell him I'm sorry."

Harry dropped her hands and stared at her.

"Sorry? What for?"

"I can't... it doesn't matter. Just tell him, Harry, please?" she pleaded with him.

He frowned. Upon seeing her distraught expression, though, his face softened, and he nodded.

"I'll tell him."

"Thank you." Hermione sighed in relief. Snape might not believe her, might not forgive her, especially with the words coming via Harry, but at least it would be said. She wiped her eyes again, suddenly feeling very weary.

"You should get some rest, or Pomfrey will have my head," Harry joked, and she smiled tiredly and nodded. He reached for the purple potion, but hesitated before handing it to her.

"There's one other thing," he said. "Ron says he hopes you're okay."

Her face darkened for a moment before she realised she was no longer angry with him. Frustrated, yes, but not angry.

Strange, how a near tragedy put things into perspective. They were coming into dark times, and they would all need their friends more than ever, soon. _Ron and Severus included_, she thought sadly, and then realised Harry was still speaking.

"-was really worried," he said. "He would have come with me, but he didn't want to upset you... and he thought Snape might be here, too."

She shook her head.

"He can't leave his rooms," she said quietly. _Even if he wanted to._

"Yeah, well," said Harry, "I thought with something like this he might have made an exception."

_And maybe he would have_, she thought_, had it not been for their argument._

Harry saw her expression of dismay and said, "Whatever you're apologising for, Hermione, he won't hold it against you, especially not after this. I'd forgive you, whatever you'd done."

She gave him a sad smile, but her mind was still filled with uncertainty. If only she could see him now...

"I'll tell him, anyway," Harry reassured her as he handed her the phial of sleeping draught. He stood up from the bed as she drank it down, and helped her draw the sheet back up over her bad shoulder, tucking it around her.

"Tell me what he says," she murmured as she drifted off.

She didn't hear Harry's reply.

* * *

It was past three in the morning and Snape was still wide awake, pacing back and forth across his sitting room.

Dumbledore hadn't returned with further news, and neither had Hermione appeared as he had been hoping she might.

Surely she had been released from Pomfrey's care by now? Surely she would have come to him by now, realising he knew he had been wrong and allow him to make amends?

The Floo flared bright and he spun around, hoping to see her, only to be faced with…

"Potter," he growled. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"The Floo from Dumbledore's office," the boy responded. "He's gone down to the school gates with the visitors."

Snape's eyes were drawn to the bundle of fabric in the boys arms - his Invisibility Cloak- and he frowned, confused. He watched the boy's eyes travel around the room, finally coming to rest on the bottle and glass on the coffee table.

"Drinking away your sorrows," Potter commented with a raised eyebrow. "That's always a good idea."

He resisted the urge to hex the boy, settling instead for enquiring with false politeness, "Is there some purpose to your visit, Potter, or have you merely come down here to insult me?"

"If it was my choice, I wouldn't be here at all," he returned. "I'm here because of Hermione."

Snape tried to keep his expression indifferent, but couldn't quite manage it.

"Is she all right?" he finally asked.

"What sort of bloody question is that, after what happened? Of course she's not all right, you idiot!"

Snape stepped forwards, a snarl curling his lip at the impudence of the boy.

"You forget your place, Potter," he hissed. "I may no longer be your teacher, but I will not tolerate such rudeness from you."

Instead of being cowed, though, Potter tossed his Invisibility Cloak over the back of the armchair and sat down, uninvited.

"Look," he said flatly, "What did Dumbledore tell you about what happened tonight?"

Snape scowled, but lowered himself into a chair, too, before he spoke. "She was set upon in the dungeons by two students – two _Slytherins_," he added, seeing Potter open his mouth. "They meant to take her to the Dark Lord, but their plan was foiled when Mr Malfoy discovered them."

"Is that all he told you?"

Snape favoured the boy with a raised eyebrow, and Potter sighed and muttered something inaudible.

"Am I missing something, Potter?" Snape asked sarcastically. "Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me."

"Yes, you're missing something!" he spat angrily. "They didn't just rough her up a bit; they tried to rape her, and were going to take her to Voldemort when they'd finished! Can you imagine what _he_ would have done to her?"

Snape felt his face blanch, and he was infinitely glad he was sitting down. He hardly heard a word after _rape_, and he didn't flinch at Potter's use of the Dark Lord's name. Whatever he'd been expecting the boy to say, it wasn't that.

Last time – when he'd come across Hermione and Crabbe in the dungeon corridor – the Slytherins had only been out to frighten her. He should have known they were capable of more, but it didn't cross his mind that they'd try anything in his presence. Now, though, that wasn't an issue for them.

"But... Albus said their instructions were to take her to the Dark Lord alive and unspoilt," he managed hoarsely.

"Oh, please," Harry scoffed. "You expected those two to leave her alone after she escaped them last time? Do you know what Goyle said to her? _Snape isn't around to save you this time_. She's just damn lucky someone else was."

Snape swallowed, feeling sickened. "Is she... they didn't..."

"No," Harry said quickly, "thank God. But it was a damn near thing."

"Will she be all right?"

The boy favoured him with a disdainful look, which he altogether deserved at his choice of words.

"She hit her head, hurt her arm and has more than a few bruises, but yes, she'll be all right, eventually. She's asleep at the moment."

Snape nodded, still feeling slightly sickened, not to mention the unsettling thought sitting in the back of his head that this was all entirely his fault.

"Look, I just thought..." Potter cleared his throat and looked away. "…I just thought if you care about her in the slightest, as she obviously does you, you might want to see her."

Any disparaging remark Snape may have made about Gryffindor sentimentality flew from his mind, and he tried to fix a sneer on his face to cover the fact he was thoroughly rattled by the insight of the Potter boy.

The strangeness of the situation suddenly struck him, and he felt the absurd desire to laugh. Potter was in his sitting room, in the middle of the night - in his pyjamas, Snape noted with a quick glance at the scruffy-looking Gryffindor – discussing his... well, his... _their_ mutual friend, at least. He didn't know what Hermione was to him anymore, after their argument.

"And what makes you think she would want to see me?" he asked coolly, trying to appear disinterested, though his heart was hammering rather faster than usual in his chest.

"She wanted me to tell you she's sorry," Harry said quietly.

"Don't be absurd," Snape scoffed, and the idea entered his head that the boy was playing some trick on him after learning what he'd said to Hermione that night. "She has nothing to be sorry for."

"She seems to think she does." The boy was watching him closely and Snape scowled, but it didn't deter him. "She seems to think you haven't been to see her because you're angry over whatever happened."

"I _can't _see her," Snape bit out. "I can't leave here."

"Can't or won't?"

"I _can't_." He resisted the urge to strangle the boy before he asked another inane question.

"Why can't you?"

Snape clenched his teeth and took a long, measured breath to restrain himself from shouting at the boy's idiocy.

"I made a vow, Potter," he said tightly. "An Unbreakable Vow. Do you know what that is?"

The boy nodded, suddenly looking stunned, and Snape continued.

"I made a vow, many years ago, to obey Albus Dumbledore in all things. If he decrees that I am not to leave these rooms, I am bound by my vow to obey. Do you know the consequences of ignoring such a vow?"

Potter nodded mutely again.

"Albus told me tonight, reaffirming what he said some weeks ago when my duplicity was discovered by the Dark Lord, that I must not be seen. I have little choice but to obey."

"You must not be seen," Potter echoed thoughtfully. "Is that exactly what he said?"

"I don't see why that matters," Snape said shortly, "but, yes, those were his exact words."

"I do read sometimes, you know," the boy said, standing up and taking his cloak from the back of the chair. "I've read about vows. They're very literal in their meaning. If you really want to bind someone, you have to be careful with your wording. If Dumbledore had told you to stay in these rooms, you'd be stuffed."

"He told me I mustn't be seen," Snape said, sudden realising where the boy's train of thought was heading. He had been too busy wallowing in self-pity to consider the phrasing of the Headmaster's command.

"It's a good thing I'm feeling generous, then," Potter said with a smirk, holding out his cloak. Snape stared at it. How often had he wanted to lay his hands on it in his youth, both to trick its owner and just to be invisible, left alone, for an hour or a day. Now, though, he looked at the cloak with a wary eye.

"Potter, I hardly think the Headmaster will approve of my galivanting around the castle under the cover of an Invisibility Cloak like some wayward _Gryffindor_."

An angry look crossed the boy's face. "Look, it's just an idea, okay," he said tightly. "I thought you'd want to see her. Obviously, I overestimated your capacity to give a damn, though."

He turned back to the fireplace, reaching for the jar of Floo powder on the mantle.

"Potter, wait," Snape said.

The boy stopped and turned, and Snape cleared his throat.

"Might I borrow your Invisibility Cloak for a few hours?"

The boy actually had the audacity to grin, and he tossed the cloak back over the armchair.

"I'm not promising I'll use it," Snape warned.

"_I_ don't care one way or another," Potter said frankly, "but for Hermione's sake, think about it, will you?"

Snape nodded and a moment later Potter disappeared through the Floo.

Picking up the cloak, the silvery material slipped through his fingers as he contemplated his options.

The Headmaster would be furious to think he was even considering leaving the safety of his rooms, but he wasn't breaking his vow… not really. It occurred to him briefly that Potter might be lying about her wanting to see him. Had she truly forgiven him, or, if she hadn't, would she give him a chance to explain?

Maybe she'd told Potter she never wanted to see him again. No, something told Snape, despite his intense dislike of the boy, that he was being truthful. He didn't have the malicious streak his father had displayed in their youth, and his concern for Hermione was as genuine as Snape's.

He stood, undecided, for only a minute more, before he tossed the cloak around his shoulders, set his jaw, and crossed the room to the hidden passageway to the first floor.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Notes:_

_Thanks to everyone who had read and reviewed! I really appreciate your comments!_

_Most of you guessed something would happen in the dungeons. I wonder if anyone thought it would go this far, though? It had to be nasty for a variety of reasons, some obvious, some not. That scene is also the reason this chapter has taken a little longer than usual. It wasn't the most pleasant thing to write, but I do try to keep things real, and I wouldn't expect anything less from two young men trying to prove themselves worthy of Voldemort._

_Earlier in the story – before HBP was released – Snape said he was brought up to believe in the importance of blood purity. In this chapter, he mentions succumbing to the 'ideals of his family and his housemates'. Just for the record, I haven't specifically stated that he's a pureblood. It's not important to the story, but I just wanted to point it out. :P_

_The Unbreakable Vow is – obviously – a concept introduced in HBP. While this story isn't HBP-compliant, I do take things from that book and use them, and the Unbreakable Vow is an example of this. I do believe Snape made a Vow to Dumbledore when he switched sides, and this gives me hope Snape's loyalties can be proven in the future, because there had to be a Bonder present for the Vow._

_I'm also a closet Snape/Lily shipper, although I've only made them out to be friends in this story. I'm convinced there was something there in canon, and hopefully we'll find out in Book 7!_

_ As always, the next chapter has already been posted at owl dot tauri dot org  
_


	31. Forgiveness

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 31**

Stealing silently through the deserted hallways of the castle, Snape wasn't surprised to find nothing much had changed since his confinement had begun. Nothing had really changed in the twenty-eight years since he'd first set foot in the school.

The door to the Hospital Wing was unlocked, but he stepped back after turning the handle and pushing it open. The action had made his hand visible, just for a moment, as it slipped past the confines of the cloak.

He was a fool to be doing this.

The cloak hung to the ground, so there was no danger of his feet being exposed. His hands, though, were a different matter. Frowning, he pulled his wand from his sleeve and cast a silent Invisibility Charm on the offending appendages. It wouldn't last long, but he could renew the spell if he had to.

The mediwitch's office was dark and silent as Snape made his way past, heading for the far end of the room. There was a screen around the last bed, and the soft glow of a barely-lit lantern was shining from within.

Taking a moment to ensure the cloak was secure and the hood was covering his face, he stepped around the screen and laid eyes on Hermione.

Even in the soft light, he could see the sheen on one side of her face from a healing salve and the dark shadow of the fading bruise beneath it. He swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat as he wondered what other bruises were hidden beneath the thin sheet tucked around her small frame.

Moving closer, he gazed down at her, noticing the faint furrowing of her brow even as she slept. He reached out an invisible hand to lightly brush her fingers, resting atop the sheet, and noticed the faint bruising of fingermarks around her wrist.

Guilt rose in him so quickly that he felt physically sick, and he groped behind him for the arm of the empty chair, sinking into it slowly and bowing his invisible head. Whether the marks were from his own fingers or not, he was still to blame.

Could he ever make amends for what he had done to her this night?

Rearranging the folds of the Invisibility Cloak to make sure he was completely covered, he settled in for the remaining hours of darkness by her side. She probably wouldn't wake any time before dawn, but it was the least he could do to stay with her, even if she wasn't aware of it or didn't want him there. Staring unseeing across the dimly lit room, he allowed his thoughts to wander.

Some time later, a soft whimper from the bed drew him back to the present, and he glanced over at Hermione. Her eyes were closed and she was still asleep, but her head had shifted to one side, loose strands of hair falling across her face. She made another soft sound of fear or pain, and her eyelids fluttered but she didn't wake. A glance at the empty phial on the bedside cabinet told him she had been given a sleeping draught, but not a dreamless one.

It was good thinking on the part of the mediwitch, he thought approvingly. Dreamless Sleep only repressed memories to be dealt with later, often surfacing in greater clarity when they finally broke through the liquid shield. He should know.

The fingers of her free hand clenched at the sheet, and he instinctively reached out to her, wrapping his own fingers around her smaller ones. She clasped his invisible hand unconsciously in her own; it seemed to comfort her, and she fell back into a peaceful slumber.

He silently renewed the charm on his hand, just to be safe, and sat forwards, trying to find a comfortable position from which to maintain the contact. Twice, he tried to remove his hand from hers, but each time he managed it she became restless in her sleep again. So, ignoring the cramping muscles in his back, he took her hand again.

He would have to leave before the mediwitch returned in the morning, but just as the first hint of grey broke on the far horizon visible through the Hospital Wing window, Hermione awoke.

His eyes went first to his hand, making sure the Invisibility spell was still intact, and then to her face as he watched her blink away the potion-induced fuzziness still clouding her brain.

He flexed his fingers a little in her grasp, and he saw her stiffen as she became aware that she wasn't alone.

She turned her head abruptly in his direction, and then he saw a panicked look cross her face when she saw nothing.

She pulled her hand from the phantom grasp and held it up in front of her face, squinting in the dim light as she examined it. She shook her head, then, and Snape knew she thought she'd been dreaming.

He made the slightest movement, shifting his legs, and the cloak rustled around him, audible in the stillness of the silent room.

She glanced fearfully in his direction again. In a whisper, she said, "Who's there?"

He leant forwards and touched her hand lightly again; she started, but didn't pull away.

"Harry?" she said uncertainly. "Come on, this isn't funny."

He could see her becoming more frightened, but he daren't speak. He might have taken the risk of coming here, but he wouldn't utter a sound that might give him away. It had already been established the walls had ears in this castle.

He placed his hand more firmly over hers, trying to reassure her.

She twisted her hand so her palm was facing up and entwined her fingers in his. Snape saw the frown of confusion begin to cloud her face as she realised they weren't the fingers of her Gryffindor housemate.

Her breathing quickened slightly – from fright or anticipation, he couldn't tell – as she ran her fingers over his, trying to make sense of what she could feel but not see. Her light touch travelled up to his bony wrist and she stilled her fingers for a moment, staring at a spot somewhere above and to the right of him as though expecting him to be revealed.

She turned his hand over and her fingers brushed the small ridge of a hex scar on his inner wrist. It was another remnant of the animosity between him and James Potter in their school days, and a scar Hermione had seen and asked him about before.

Her eyes widened and a myriad of emotions crossed her face. There was fear and trepidation, but there was also hope, relief and as much joy as he thought she should be able to muster under the circumstances. It was that joy, he hoped, and not fear, that filled her eyes with tears.

"Severus?" she finally whispered, his name almost undetectable on a soft exhalation of breath.

He squeezed her hand again in confirmation, but then released it as he saw she was about to speak again. He reached up and pressed a finger softly over her lips in a gesture of silence, waiting until she nodded in understanding.

She was still staring at that same place over his shoulder, thinking she was looking at his face, and so when he removed his finger from her lips he took her chin and gently tilted it down and to the left. If she looked straight ahead now, she would be looking directly at him.

She seemed to understand what he was doing, but there was still uncertainty written on her face. Did she still think him to be angry with her?

Without speaking or allowing her to see his concern for her and remorse for what he had done, how could he convey the truth to her?

She reached out tentative fingers, feeling the edges of the material around his face, and he saw the confusion on her face as she realised it was Potter's cloak. He tensed, ready to push her hand away if she tried to lower the hood, but she didn't. Instead, she reached further until her fingertips came into contact with his jaw. He found himself leaning into her touch almost unconsciously, and that seemed to give her confidence.

Her hand crept along his jaw and then up his cheek to where she had hit him, probing the spot with her fingertips. He'd almost forgotten about it after everything that had happened since.

Obviously, she hadn't.

She dropped her hand and said softly, "I'm sorry."

If he were visible at that moment, she would have seen him staring at her, astonished. _She_ was apologising to _him_? If it wasn't for his Vow, he would have thrown off the cloak – spies be damned – and told her in no uncertain terms she had absolutely nothing to apologise for.

As it was, the only thing he found himself able to do was reach out to touch her face with his invisible hand, mimicking the path she had traced on his cheek moments before.

She leaned into his hand, a single tear trickling from the corner of her eye, and he brushed it aside carefully, his hand coming away slightly sticky with the salve still being absorbed into her skin. After a moment, he withdrew his hand and stood up reluctantly, the rustle of the cloak falling about him alerting her to his movement. He didn't know how early Madam Pomfrey would return; it wouldn't be wise for him to wait and find out, either.

She shifted a little, looking for a more comfortable position, and Snape caught the quiet but sharp inhalation of pain as she inadvertently moved her injured arm.

Glancing back at the bedside cabinet, he spotted a phial of pain-killing potion. He took it and held it up to his nose, sniffing the contents. There was a mild sleeping draught mixed with it, but that wouldn't hurt her.

She was watching the phial with a trace of amusement on her face as it floating in mid-air, and when it came closer to her, she nodded and raised her head a little.

"Thank you," she murmured a moment later, when he took the empty phial and set it back on the cabinet.

He gazed down at her, reluctant to leave but knowing he had to go soon. Nevertheless, he stood there for a while longer, listening to her breathing even out as the potion-induced sleep overcame her again.

Her unruly hair was spread out all over the pillow, and he couldn't help but reach out to smooth it down a little. He brushed a short, frizzy curl from her temple and, on impulse, leaned down to brush her forehead with a kiss.

She slept on, and he finally stepped back from the bed and left. Stealing back through the corridors before the rest of the castle arose for the day, he wondered if the Headmaster knew where he had been.

Dumbledore seemed to know everything that went on in the castle. He would not be pleased.

Whatever the Headmaster's verdict, though, it was something Snape had to do. Even now, he was unsure whether her acceptance of him was merely borne of fear and exhaustion and need for someone – anyone – to be with her.

When she was fully coherent and had time to think on what had happened, would she still be so forgiving?

He supposed all he could do now was wait.

* * *

When Hermione woke, the sunlight was streaming in the open windows of the Hospital Wing. She stretched, gingerly flexing her bandaged arm, and was pleased to discover it hurt much less than the previous night. She still had a dull, aching headache behind her eyes and was bone weary. All things considered, though, she felt reasonably well.

Looking at the cabinet by her bedside, she noticed the two empty phials and frowned. She remembered Harry handing her the sleeping draught before he left, but when had she taken the pain-killing potion?

A partial memory came to her, like a half-remembered dream; a whimper of pain, and then gentle, invisible hands holding a phial to her lips. The pain subsided, but with its relief had come tiredness again, and she'd closed her eyes. Had she felt the lightest touch of soft lips on her forehead before she had slept?

Hermione sat up, staring at the empty chair beside her bed. The room was silent even though she listened for some time. Reaching out, she moved her hand in a slow arc above the surface of the chair, but it found only air to pass through, not the obstruction of the solid but invisible person she had hoped to find.

She left her hand drop, confused. Had she only imagined he had come to her last night?

_You must have_, she thought sadly. _Severus couldn't have been here. He isn't allowed._ As much as he was frustrated by his confinement, he wouldn't go against the Headmaster wishes.

_Then again_, another voice interrupted inside her head, _if it was a dream, why was he invisible?_

The smallest ray of hope blossomed in her that she might not have imagined it after all. Perhaps she could ask the Headmaster; she would undoubtedly be speaking to him at length some time soon.

A short while later, Madam Pomfrey bustled into the infirmary.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, upon seeing Hermione awake and sitting up.

"Okay, I think," Hermione said. "My arm is still a bit sore."

"It will be for a few days," the mediwitch said as she gathered the empty phials and banished them to the other end of the room, where they landed in the washbasin with only a soft _clink_. "And how about your head?"

"It's aching a little," she admitted, "but nowhere near as bad as last night."

"That's good, then," Pomfrey said, casting her wand quickly over Hermione and nodding her head, seemingly satisfied with what she detected. "I'll get you something else for your head. It would probably be best for you to rest a while longer."

"Oh, but I feel all right, really," she protested. "I think I'm okay to leave."

In truth, she was anxious to speak to the Headmaster, and to find out whether Severus had really been to see her while she slept.

"I believe I'm the mediwitch here, Miss Granger," Pomfrey said sternly. Seeing Hermione's expression, though, she amended, "Rest this morning and then, provided you are still feeling well enough, you may leave after lunch. The Headmaster wishes to speak with you this afternoon, and I must insist you do not return to classes for the remainder of the week."

"Oh, but-"

"No buts, Miss Granger," she said firmly. "You have been through a terrible ordeal; whether your body feels all right or not, you are still recovering from the shock of it, and the best thing you can do it rest for a few days. You aren't missing any new topics in your lessons, and I daresay you're already ahead in your revision?"

Hermione nodded sheepishly.

"Good, then there is no excuse." The mediwitch summoned another phial from somewhere across the room and handed it to Hermione. "Rest this morning, and we will see how you are after lunch."

After a morning of sleep, a light lunch and a stern warning not to 'overdo it' from Madam Pomfrey, Hermione found herself being escorted by the mediwitch to the Headmaster's office shortly before three o'clock.

She wore her open robe over pants and a jumper which the mediwitch had arranged a house-elf to bring from her room earlier that day. She was glad of the thought; the torn blouse from the previous night would be going straight in the fire. She had no intention of wearing a reminder of what had occurred.

She thanked Madam Pomfrey as she stepped onto the revolving staircase and continued up to the circular office alone.

"Come in, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said, rising from behind his desk. "Have a seat, my dear. Can I get you some tea, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, sir," she said, lowering herself gratefully into one of the comfortable armchairs. The walk from the infirmary had tired her more than she wanted to let on to Madam Pomfrey, and she suddenly wasn't so confident in her health as she had been earlier.

"Well, then," said the Headmaster, taking the chair opposite her and clasping his hands under his chin. "We have much to discuss, I would imagine, but shall we deal with the unpleasantries first?"

"I think everything we're going to discuss is unpleasant, Headmaster," she said quietly. "Some more so than others."

Dumbledore nodded sympathetically.

"Miss Granger," he began after a moment, "I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am that something like this has happened. I know it seems trivial to say such a thing after the fact, but I can assure you most vehemently it will never happen again."

She shook her head. "It's not trivial at all, sir. I'm grateful for your concern. I was hoping you might fill in a few blanks for me, though. Harry told me a little of what happened after... afterwards... but he didn't know all the details."

"Of course," Dumbledore said, sitting back in his chair. "Where to begin? Perhaps you might tell me the last thing you remember, if you are able?"

She took a deep breath. "I remember hearing someone cast a Stunning spell. I thought it was being cast on me, but Harry says otherwise."

"Indeed," affirmed the Headmaster, and he proceeded to explain exactly what had happened after she had blacked out.

She learnt that Malfoy had come across Crabbe returning to the Slytherin common room to retrieve the Portkey. Curious, the Head Boy had waited until his housemate re-emerged and then followed him back to where Goyle was holding her.

"Mr Malfoy didn't reveal himself until he realised what the other boys were intending to do. Seeing your failed escape, he knew if he didn't step in at that moment, it would be too late. He Stunned both boys and was seeing to you when I arrived."

"Because of the Unforgivable," Hermione said softly, and the Headmaster nodded.

"I never thought I would see the day a student of this school used such a curse on one of their classmates," he said heavily, shaking his head as he continued his account.

He told Hermione of his arrival and his initial fear that Malfoy, too, had been a part of what happened. The Head Boy had seemed genuinely concerned and shaken by his two housemates, though, and the Headmaster had more pressing concerns at the time. He described how Professor McGonagall had arrived and taken her to the Hospital Wing, while he enlisted the help of Malfoy to take the two unconscious Slytherins up to his office.

Once there, Hermione learned the Headmaster had retrieved the Portkey, bound the boys and summoned their parents and the appropriate authorities to deal with the situation.

"What happened to them?" she asked.

"They have been expelled," he said firmly. "As far as both I and the Board of Governors are concerned, such an act of violence has no place in this school. Their fate now solely rests in the hands of the Aurors."

"Because they're of age?"

"No, Miss Granger. Age has nothing to do with it. They were carrying out the orders of Voldemort. While they may not bear his Mark on their arms, it is clear this was a test of their worthiness to enter his ranks. I have no doubt the Aurors will confirm that when the young men are interrogated under Veritaserum tomorrow."

"Veritaserum?" Hermione echoed, surprised. "They didn't volunteer anything in their defence?"

"It was Mr Crabbe who informed me of their orders from Tom, to deliver you to him alive via the Portkey they were provided with. Before I could glean any more information, though, Mr Goyle advised his friend in no uncertain terms to be silent or they would both suffer consequences even beyond Voldemort's wrath."

"What happened then?" she asked. "What about Malfoy? Did you speak with him? Did-"

He held up his hand to halt her questions, and she waited for him to continue.

"Yes, I spoke to Mr Malfoy, who was waiting in another of my rooms, away from his classmates. I had correctly assumed in separating them that he was concerned his role in foiling the attempted abduction would be made known," the Headmaster explained to her.

"I don't understand," Hermione said. "Why would he have helped me if he didn't want to?"

"I can think of two possible motivations," Dumbledore replied, "but I do not wish to speculate which is closer to the truth. Either leaves young Mr Malfoy in quite a predicament."

She looked at the old man curiously, and he sighed.

"Miss Granger, I do not have to tell you the importance of anything I say not leaving this room, do I?"

"Of course not," she affirmed.

"Mr Malfoy's behaviour has been strange as of late," the Headmaster began. "I know you have noticed, and I know Severus is also aware of what it may mean."

"That he's having second thoughts about what his father wants him to do?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"The problem is, of course, that it may simply be an act; a clever subterfuge of his father's design, carried out in the hope that I may offer him asylum from Voldemort's fury and a place on our side of the war."

"Another spy for Voldemort." Hermione suddenly caught on to what Dumbledore was saying – and what Severus had tried to explain to her some time ago. Malfoy might seem genuine in his attempt to be nice to her – especially now, saving her life – but how were they to know for sure?

"The exposure of Severus as a traitor will have shaken Tom's trust in his own servants," Dumbledore said, "but very few are more trusted by him than the Malfoys. Young Draco is in a perfect position to carry out such a plan."

"And there's no way of knowing which side he's really on, short of Veritaserum," Hermione murmured, to which the Headmaster nodded.

"It has been of great concern to me lately," he said heavily. "I cannot be sure his turn for the better this year is genuine, but if it is and I do not extend a hand or ear towards him, he may lose faith in my ability to help or protect him at all."

"If it _is_ genuine," Hermione said, "what do you think has been the cause of it? He has been more tolerable since the beginning of the year, but it really didn't stand out until after Christmas."

"I have reason to believe Mr Malfoy attended a number of summons with his father," Dumbledore explained, "both last summer and during the Christmas holidays. It is possible, however unlikely, that he may be genuinely sickened by what he has seen. While his father has long taught him the superiority of the pureblood wizard, young Mr Malfoy had not previously seen the lengths to which Voldemort – and his father – go to in advocating that superiority. The plan to attack your parents' home at Christmas – the knowledge that someone he knows well, however much he may or may not like you, was going to die – may have been a turning point in his thinking."

"Malfoy seemed really shaken the morning after Severus was discovered," she commented. "We were watching him at breakfast when he received a letter from his father. Lots of Slytherins got letters, but they were all laughing and snickering over theirs. He looked positively sick."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Which gives purchase to my theory that he is genuinely uncomfortable with what is being asked of him. Mr Malfoy has always had a great respect for Severus, as his Head of House, a friend of his father and a powerful wizard in his own right. It stands to reason that he would be shaken, though whether by Severus' betrayal or his apparent death, I do not know."

"He didn't have to help me last night," Hermione said, brow furrowed in thought. "He could have pretended he knew nothing of it."

"Yes," the Headmaster said. "That is most definitely a point in his favour. However, I am reluctant to speak with him until I am more confident in his motives."

Hermione nodded. The Head Boy's behaviour had been confusing her, too, but none moreso than the previous night. Had he saved her out of genuine concern, out of a Slytherin's desire to protect himself above others should it be discovered he had known what was happening, or for other more sinister reasons?"

"In the course of the night's events, before I spoke to Mr Malfoy, in fact, I managed to inform Severus of the situation."

She drew her eyes back to the Headmaster, aware of the care with which he was watching for her reaction. Should she explain what had passed between them or had Severus already done so? If he had, did the Headmaster know the nature of their _whole_ argument, or only that the moonfilly blood played a part? She didn't even know whether the Headmaster still considered Snape a teacher, and therefore assumed their relationship had remained merely a close friendship. She looked away from those piercing blue eyes again, not wanting him to see her conflict.

"If you are feeling up to it," he continued, "perhaps you might take a moment to visit Severus when we are finished here. I know he is most anxious to see you."

Her face fell.

He hadn't been to see her, after all. It had merely been a wishful dream on her part, a product of her fear and distress.

Dumbledore, misreading her expression, said, "Miss Granger, Severus has told me a little of the argument you had last night. I do not know exactly what was said, but he was very distressed to think his actions caused you to flee so unthinkingly. I understand his words may have hurt you, but-"

"I hurt him just as much," she whispered, blinking rapidly to try to dispel the tears gathering in her eyes.

"Miss Granger," the Headmaster said firmly, repeating her name when she didn't look up the first time. When she finally met his eyes, he said, "Severus is not a forgiving man, Hermione. Young Harry can tell you he holds grudges long past their due, and often for the wrong reasons."

She looked down again. He was trying to tell her not to expect too much if she ventured to speak to Snape again.

"Whatever you have done," Dumbledore continued, "you need seek no forgiveness from him. It seems he has taken sole responsibility for what happened between you last night, and for the subsequent events, though they were beyond his control. His fear, I feel, is that _you_ are not inclined to forgive _him_."

She stared at Dumbledore, and he smiled, though a little sadly.

"He cares for you a great deal, Hermione; more than I would have ever imagined possible a few months ago. I would not normally condone such a thing – you know this from my earlier disapproval - but chance and circumstance has seen us break many rules these past few years, the least of which to allowing someone to love whom they will. If you can both manage to forgive yourselves – not each other, for that is already a given, I feel – you will brook no argument from me as to where you go from here."

Her throat closed up as she opened her mouth to speak, and no words came out. A single tear escaped and trickled down her cheek, and she was too surprised even to wipe it away.

After some time and more than one attempt at clearing the lump in her throat, she simply said, "Thank you, sir. I hope we can work things out."

The Headmaster nodded understandingly.

"I must have been dreaming," Hermione continued after a moment. "I thought he visited me last night."

"If he could, I have no doubt he would have," Dumbledore said. "I'm afraid I could not allow it, though."

She nodded, her hope at the Headmaster's earlier words failing just a bit. If they were only his words, only Dumbledore's interpretation of the situation, how was she to know that was how Severus really felt?

_There's only one way to find out_," she thought, setting her jaw and trying to ignore the nervous flutter in her stomach.

"I think I might speak to him now, if that's all right, sir?"

The Headmaster smiled and nodded. "I'm sure he will be delighted to see you, but doubly so after what has happened." He offered her a lemon drop from the dish on the table between them, and popped one in his own mouth when she shook her head.

"Now," he continued, "in light of what has happened, I must insist you do not wander in any part of the school after curfew. To make things easier, I have activated the Floo connection between Severus' sitting room and your own room."

"Thank you, Professor," she said, surprised.

"But," he added sternly, though there was the hint of a twinkle in his eyes. "I must warn you the connection is for your use only. Severus may not use it, nor anyone else. I will be sure to mention that to him, too."

She blushed scarlet at his insinuation... or was it at the thought Snape had the means to access her room unseen by anyone?

"Of course, sir," she managed to say. "I understand… and thank you… for everything."

"You are most welcome, Miss Granger."

He stood at the same time as her, and strode over to his desk as she moved to the fireplace for a pinch of Floo powder.

"Before you go, Miss Granger," he called, coming to stand before her and holding out his hand, "I think this needs to be returned to you."

She extended her hand and he dropped an object into it. Glancing down, she realised it was the rune necklace her parents had given her for Christmas.

She gasped, putting one hand to her throat even though she now knew it wasn't there. She hadn't taken it off since Christmas Day; how had she not noticed it was missing?

"Where did you find this?"

"In the dungeons," Dumbledore said quietly. "I believe you may have lost it during your altercation with Mr Goyle."

"Oh."

Her neck was still sore from almost being choked, though the bruises were gone, and she hadn't noticed the necklace missing. He must have torn in from her amidst one of her attempts to escape.

"Thank you, sir," she said again, tucking it into the pocket of her robe before she took a pinch of Floo powder from the urn on the mantle.

As the fire turned green and she stepped in, calling out to be taken to Snape's quarters, she heard the Headmaster say, "Good luck."

Curiously, those two words unnerved her.

* * *

Hermione stepped out of the hearth, the flash of green flames dying behind her as she brushed a little stray powder from her robe.

Snape glanced up from the papers on his desk and his face froze. She watched him, unsure whether his blank, if slightly shocked, expression was going to change into one of anger or joy at seeing her.

He set his quill in its holder and rose slowly from his chair, never taking his eyes from hers as he moved around the edge of his desk. He stopped at the opposite end of the couch from where she stood.

"Hello, Severus," she greeted softly.

He cleared his throat, his face still blank as he said, "How are you?"

She blinked back the tears that came into her eyes at his dispassionate enquiry; it seemed more of a cursory gesture than one made out of any genuine concern.

"I've been better," she finally managed, speaking almost in a whisper to hide the tremor in her voice.

He nodded, and she saw his gaze travel from her face to the sling on her arm, half hidden beneath her open robe.

She looked away, not wanting him to see the hope written plain across her face, and her eyes fell on something draped across the back of one of the fireside armchairs: Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

Her eyes flew back to him, and in that moment she realised that his face wasn't expressionless; it was uncertain. He was waiting for her reaction, just as surely as she was waiting for his. Would she slap him again, tell him he was a heartless bastard, or cross the room and embrace him?

"It was you," she breathed.

"Who did you think it was?" he asked, frowning.

"No." She shook her head. "I meant, I didn't know if you... after what happened, I didn't think you would come. I wondered if it was just a dream."

It was Snape's turn to shake his head, his expression softening as he said, "No, it wasn't a dream, Hermione. I was there."

She crossed the room in four, swift strides, and he stepped forwards to meet her halfway. Without hesitation, he pulled her to him, embracing her as tightly as he could without crushing her injured shoulder. She wrapped her unrestrained arm around his waist and buried her head in the soft material of his shirt.

She tried to hold back her tears, but the soft caress of one of his hands up and down her back was her undoing. All the pent-up frustration, fear and hurt of the last twenty-four hours burst from her at last, and once she started sobbing, she couldn't stop.

It could have been minutes or hours later when her sobs finally gave way to hiccupping breaths, and she turned her head to one side to wipe away the last of the tears blurring her eyes.

He was still rubbing one hand in gentle circles on her back, and his chin was resting on her head. She could feel his breath stir her hair as he spoke, and realised he was saying, "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry."

"I'm the one who should be apologising," she said softly, realising she'd left a large, damp patch on the front of his shirt. She fingered his open collar and continued, "I'm sorry, and I don't mean for blubbering all over your shirt. I've been so thoughtless."

He huffed out a disbelieving laugh and pulled back so he could look down at her, his arms still around her back. "You are anything but thoughtless, Hermione. It is _I_ who should be begging your forgiveness."

"But I hit you!"

"And you had every right to," he countered. "I daresay you might have knocked some sense into this bitter old head of mine."

"I wouldn't have needed to if I'd been truthful with you in the first place," she said remorsefully.

"Hermione," he began, waiting until she met his eyes to continue, "what I said... and what I did, for that matter... I won't insult you by trying to justify my actions and words last night. They were completely and utterly reprehensible and if there was any way I could take them back, I assure you I would. I was so angry about the moonfilly that I lashed out with the first thing that came to mind. It disturbed me that you would ignore the potential to save hundreds of lives in exchange for only mine."

"You said it, though," she said quietly. "It had the _potential_ to save others, but I _knew_ it could save you. The only error I made was not explaining what had happened as soon as you woke up. I know you still would have been angry, but at least you would have known."

"Or, at least, I would have been too weak to muster such anger," he quipped, but then sobered quickly. "That still doesn't change what I did, Hermione. I should never have taken such liberty invading your mind like that, and I am sorry."

She smiled faintly. "You seem to be saying that a lot tonight."

He didn't returned her smile, though, instead shaking his head and saying, "To think that my actions almost cost you your life..."

"They didn't," she said firmly. "Besides, _I_ was the one foolish enough to leave by the dungeons."

"But you wouldn't have had I not spoken so harshly," he countered.

She sighed and sat on the couch, pulling him down beside her.

"We're going around in circles trying to take the blame from each other," she said with a wry smile, which he returned this time. "We're both too stubborn for our own good; I'm too stubborn to step back when I know I shouldn't push you, and you're too stubborn to believe anyone can love you, warts and all."

"Warts?" He glared at her.

"Figuratively speaking," she amended, then smirked. "I hope."

He continued to glare at her, but the corner of his mouth was twitching, and this time she laughed outright.

"Baggage and all? Skeletons in the closet?" she offered, and to that he nodded in agreement.

It was strange, she thought in that moment. The horror of the previous night's attack hadn't diminished at all, but being with him and having put things right had taken it from the forefront of her mind, even if only for a few short minutes. She actually felt able to laugh, her relief at their reconciliation a weight off her shoulders.

"I honestly don't know why I tried to turn you away," he said finally. "It was... not what I wanted, and I don't know why I thought you'd so readily agree."

"You obviously forgot about that Gryffindor stubbornness," she said teasingly. "We never give up on our friends... even hopeless cases who don't know what's good for them."

"And a good thing, too," he murmured.

She held his gaze for a long moment, and then reached up to pull his head down to meet hers. She didn't kiss him, but tilted her own forehead up so it was resting against his. If she kept her eyes open, she could look into his, so close and so dark they seemed to draw in everything around them, including her.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of his skin against hers, the strands of hair beneath her fingers at the back of his neck and her own breathing which was threatening to quicken.

"Hermione?" She felt the exhalation of the word on her cheek.

"Hmmm," she replied noncommittally. She was enjoying being close to another person without fear of them hurting her. She had wondered, both last night and earlier that morning, whether she would be able to do so again. She hadn't been able to bear the thought of Madam Pomfrey's hands healing some of her bruises, although she knew full well the mediwitch wouldn't harm her. The very thought of someone – anyone – touching her where those Slytherins had the previous night sent her skin crawling.

Yet, here she was, taking comfort in such simple closeness. Snape, too, had frightened her the previous night, and yet now she felt no fear in his presence. Here and now, she felt nothing but safe.

She brushed a soft, light kiss at the corner of his mouth as she drew away, blushing a little at the curious look in his eyes.

"I think that's about all I can manage right now," she said. He misinterpreted her words for a moment; she saw the hurt expression flicker through his eyes at the thought she was still upset with him, but then he realised what she was referring to, because he nodded and sat back.

She noticed again the Invisibility Cloak draped over the armchair, and asked him about it.

"Your friend Potter was… magnanimous-" he spoke the word with a slight sneer in his tone "-enough to lend it to me last night so that I might see you."

She shook her head, amused but slightly stunned that Harry would have made such an offer... and that Snape had accepted.

"I wondered," she commented, "when Dumbledore said earlier you were anxious to see me. He didn't know you came last night, did he?"

Snape shook his head.

"Albus will be most displeased should he find out, although I didn't disobey him explicitly, as you can see from my being here."

She looked at him in confusion, and then it dawned on her.

"The Unbreakable Vow."

He nodded.

She'd seen it months ago in Dumbledore's Pensieve, the young Death Eater swearing under pain of death to obey the Headmaster in all things, but she hadn't thought on what it meant at the time. She recalled Snape's words after the Headmaster had decided to allow the attack on the Muggle school to proceed unhindered: "_Dumbledore has made his decision, and I'll do as he asks, as I have always done, regardless of the consequences_."

"Wait," she said, frowning. "Didn't he say you had to remain in your rooms, though?"

Snape shook his head. "Not in so many words, although I don't doubt that's what he _meant_ to say."

"Then-"

"As Potter reminded me last night when I told him the reason I couldn't go to you, magical vows are taken very literally. Magic doesn't not have the human capacity of reasoning or the ability to separate explicit instructions from interpretation. Albus told me I must not be seen... by anyone who doesn't know I'm still alive, that is."

"All right," Hermione said, nodding slowly. "But why didn't you show yourself to me, then?"

"Think, Hermione," he admonished. "What if someone else were there? Some I didn't know about?"

She paled.

"You know," she went on after a moment, "that was a rather thoughtless way for Professor Dumbledore to phrase it. What if someone managed to break into your rooms and see you?"

Snape stared at her.

"I would imagine he hasn't considered that," he said eventually, shaking his head. "Nor have I."

"Well, it could happen," she insisted. "Wormtail might not be able to get into the castle anymore, but that doesn't mean someone else might not try!"

"I'll speak to him about it," Snape reassured her, and she settled back next to him.

It was dark outside, she noticed, glancing over her shoulder at the huge window behind Snape's desk. The rest of her classmates would be having dinner in the Great Hall, but she didn't feel like answering all their questions yet, and she was content to remain where she was.

"Why did he make you swear it if he was already convinced you were sincere?" she asked after a long silence in which Snape, like Hermione, seemed to have been lost in thought.

He sighed. "I imagine it was the only way he could be absolutely one hundred percent sure of my loyalty. Taking a chance at that stage of the war was not an option for either side."

"Tell me what happened when you went to him," she implored, turning to look at him. He met her eyes, deliberating her request with an unreadable expression.

"You already know most of it from the Pensieve," he pointed out.

"I want to hear it from you," she said softly, "but only if you want to tell me."

He sighed and rested his head back on the couch.

"Where to begin?"

"Anywhere you want, Severus," she said, pleased he had consented to speak of it so readily. Perhaps it would be good for both of them.

He told her a little of his childhood, mainly about his mother, and a little more about his time at Hogwarts as a student. She was surprised to hear of his friendship with Lily, and distressed by the way it had ended.

He spoke very little of his time as a loyal Death Eater, only going into detail about his potions apprenticeship when she showed interest. He told her much of what had happened from the time he had gone to Dumbledore until the first downfall of Voldemort.

His voice shook almost imperceptibly when he spoke of October thirty-first, sixteen years ago.

He told her how he was captured by Aurors not far from Godric's Hollow, still in his Death Eater robes. He was barely able to think, let alone Apparate to safety; the stinging pain of the Dark Mark, burnt black into his forearm like the most vicious of summons, had leeched all reason from his mind. The Aurors had taken him to the Ministry and interrogated him under Veritaserum for hours on end, determined to find out what had become of Voldemort that night.

He found himself telling her how, when the Aurors didn't get the 'truth' they wanted from him, they tried to beat him into confessing things he didn't even know.

Hermione sat up abruptly at that.

"But they're Aurors!" she exclaimed. "They have a code of conduct. How could they do that?"

"These were dark times," he reminded her. "Aurors had the power use Unforgivables at will and kill suspected Death Eaters on sight. Alternative methods of interrogation meant nothing."

Hermione frowned but settled back against him, and after a moment of silence he continued.

He told her how Dumbledore had come to the Ministry, three days after his capture, explaining his role in the Order and demanding his release. A member of the Wizengamot Albus Dumbledore may have been, but the demands of a single member had no sway over the Aurors. Frustrated with his resistance to tell them what they wanted to hear, he was carted off to Azkaban while Dumbledore pled his case to his colleagues of the Wizengamot.

Hermione sat up again, but didn't make any exclamation. He met her shocked gaze, seeing the absolute horror in her eyes.

"Azkaban?" she finally whispered, and he nodded.

"Suffice to say it was the longest four days of my life. I'm thankful I was mostly oblivious for the first three."

"Oblivious?"

"You think they were courteous enough to take a detour to St Mungo's on the way to Azkaban?" he scorned, but she could hear a hint of remembered pain in his voice.

"It must have been terrible," she murmured.

"It wasn't pleasant," he said shortly, and then quickly moved on to another time, another topic. She let it pass, morbidly curious as she was. There were some things he would probably never tell anyone, including her.

By the time he had finished speaking, she was stretched out along the couch on her back, her feet hanging over one end. Her head was resting in his lap as he sat upright, his own bare feet propped on the coffee table.

Her headache had returned in the middle of his anecdotes, but she hadn't wanted to interrupt him. He so seldom opened up about anything, and the story of his life, however dark it was at times, was also captivating.

Lying in his lap, she could rest her head but also watch him as he spoke, staring straight ahead, unseeing, as his mind focused on days long gone. She could see the expressions flit across his face as he spoke, and the slight pause – longer than it took to draw a breath – before he spoke of something particularly painful.

His right hand was toying idly with her hair, as it so often did when they sat together. There was something vaguely therapeutic, he had once said, about twisting the locks around his fingers, unravelling them, and watching them bounce back into curls again.

His left hand, which he'd extricated from beneath her when she first lay down, was resting lightly across her midsection, his long fingers curled over her smaller ones as her unbandaged arm rested there, too.

There was silence for a long time when he finally finished speaking, and Hermione didn't realise at first he had stopped. The low timbre of his voice and her own exhaustion had lulled her almost to the point of sleep, though she had heard everything he said.

She glanced up at his face again, stoic as he stared across the room.

What could she say, anyway? "Thank you," was nowhere near adequate to convey her gratitude at the trust he had placed in her. She doubted anyone – even Dumbledore – knew as much about him as she now did. Dumbledore only seemed to know that which related to his time at school and his motivations for joining the Death Eaters. Snape told Hermione those things, even though she knew much of it from the Headmaster already, but he also told her much more; from his earliest memory of helping his mother make potions in the basement of his childhood home, to the ridiculous Christmas presents the Headmaster always gave him, she learnt the few fond memories he had, and many frustrations and annoyances.

Eventually, he sighed and looked down at her. There was uncertainty in his eyes, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to pass judgement on him now that she knew almost _everything_. He should know by now she wouldn't judge him on past transgressions.

She merely smiled up at him, and that small gesture seemed to make a difference, because he looked suddenly relieved, and then he gave her a wry smile.

Glancing at the clock on the mantle, he said, "Tonight was supposed to be about you, and I've just spent the better part of the evening talking about myself."

"No," she corrected firmly. "Tonight is about _both_ of us, and this was something I wanted to know and you needed to say, I think."

"Still," he said, although he nodded in agreement, "I didn't have to tell you everything in one sitting. You must be exhausted."

"I am a little tired," she admitted, sitting up to stretch. A moment later, she pressed her hands to her forehead as her headache returned with a vengeance.

"Hermione?" She heard Snape's voice but it sounded distant, and she closed her eyes. She felt a tremor run through her body and clenched her hands to try to hide it from him.

She felt his hands on her shoulders to steady her, though, and knew that he felt her shaking by the concern in his tone, which she could make out even though his voice still seemed to be coming from far away.

"Just give me a minute," she managed to say, and her own voice echoed in her ears.

It passed as suddenly as it had come upon her, and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her worriedly.

"I'm all right," she said lamely, and it sounded false even to her own ears.

"You're most certainly not all right," he said sternly, gripping her shoulders a more tightly. "I could feel you shaking, Hermione."

"It takes a day or two before it wears off completely, I think," she said, exhaling a slightly shaky breath.

"Before what wears off?" He was frowning.

"The after-effects of the Cruciatus."

It was her turn to frown in confusion when she saw his eyes widen in horror. His mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out.

"Sorry," she said, realisation dawning. "I thought you knew-"

"Albus told me very little, and Potter didn't mention-"

"It's okay," she said with a sigh, closing her eyes as she rested her pounding head against the back of the couch. "Forget I mentioned it."

"I most certainly will not _forget_ it," he spat, though his anger wasn't directed at her. "Hermione, they cast an Unforgivable on you-"

"And they'll be suitably punished," she cut in tiredly. "They've already been expelled. The Headmaster said their fate rests with the Aurors, now."

"And well it should," he ground out. The conversation brought back unpleasant memories of the curse, but his indignancy on her part was heartening. She tried to stifle a yawn and realised her eyes were becoming scratchy with exhaustion.

Snape saw her yawn and glanced at the clock on the mantle again.

"It's quite late," he stated. "Your friends are probably wondering what has become of you."

"They had Quidditch practice tonight," she said, adding with a wry smile, "They probably assume I'm still sleeping; that's what Madam Pomfrey ordered, anyway."

"Perhaps you should heed her advice," Snape suggested. "The after-effects of the Cruciatus aren't to be taken lightly, nor any of the other injuries you received. You do look tired."

She nodded, knowing he was right but reluctant to leave. The thought of going back to her empty room made an feeling of uneasiness grow in her. She'd been alone in the Hospital Wing for at least some of the previous night, but she had also been under a sleeping potion. She had no such luxury tonight.

Sensing her concern, Snape said, "Gryffindor Tower is perfectly safe, Hermione. Minerva is most protective of her charges."

"I know," she said quietly. "I just... there are plenty of people in the Tower... just not in my room."

He appeared to think her words over, absentmindedly scratching his forearm through his shirtsleeve.

"I suppose if you stay here," he said finally, "I can make sure you follow Poppy's orders to rest."

"Can I?" she asked. It was what she had been hoping he would say all along, but she was too proud to ask.

He nodded and stood up, offering his hand. She rose, grateful for his firm grip because she still felt slightly unsteady.

* * *

Taking Hermione's hand and leading her into the bedroom, Snape couldn't help but think of other, more pleasant circumstances in which he might be leading her so.

_You should be thankful she's even here at all_, he scolded himself, galled that he was even contemplating such things after the previous night.

"Do you, uh..." He cleared his throat gruffly, gesturing towards the bathroom door, but she shook her head, looking vaguely amused through her tiredness. It was a lot easier, he reflected, to put her to bed when she was already asleep. He seemed to be grossly out of practice when it came to social niceties.

She shrugged out of her robe, but had some difficulty extricating her arm from the sling until he helped her. She stretched the arm a little, seeming satisfied that it didn't hurt, but left the thick, white bandage around her upper arm and shoulder in place. She was wearing simple pants and a jumper underneath; he didn't want to think what state her clothes from last night might have been in.

He stood back while she climbed into one side of the bed and drew the comforter up to her shoulders.

"I could probably take this off, too," she murmured, gesturing to the bandage with her other hand as she settled back into the pillows. "It's a bit uncomfortable."

"Tomorrow," he said, gazing down at her for a moment. He could think of nothing else to say; apologising to her again crossed his mind, but he thought better of it and simply murmured, "Good night."

When he made to retreat, though, she caught his hand.

"Thank you for letting me stay."

"Have I ever turned you out when you've fallen asleep here before?" he asked wryly, and she shook her head.

He looked down at their hands, waiting for her to release him and berating himself for wishing she wouldn't. Then, after a moment, she said softly, "Will you stay with me?"

He looked away, hoping she hadn't heard his breath catch in his throat. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to climb into bed next to her and hold her. Even his baser instincts weren't as strong as the need to simply be with her.

For whatever reason, though, he found himself refusing. Clearing his throat, he heard himself say, "I don't think that would be a good idea. I'll be in the next room if you need anything."

"Severus, please," she said, refusing to release her grip on his hand.

He sighed inwardly, his conscience fighting a losing battle against the hope in her eyes.

"Why?" His question hung in the air, but she didn't respond until he looked at her again.

"Because I want you to," she said simply, "and because I feel safe with you."

He shook his head in disbelief. How he managed to make her feel safe above her other friends was beyond him.

"Please?" she said again.

How could he refuse her?

"All right," he said with a sigh, and she released his hand.

"Thank you."

He walked around to the other side of the bed, feeling her gaze on him all the way. There was a rustle of bedclothes as he set his wand on the nearby cabinet, and he turned to see the covers drawn back on his side of the bed.

He tried to keep the smile off his face at the irony of her inviting him into his own bed, but then he glanced over to see her watching him with something akin to trepidation, biting her lower lip.

"Are you sure, Hermione?" he asked. She nodded, and before he could think of another of many reasons why he shouldn't, Snape climbed into bed and pulled the comforter up over his legs, leaning back against the headboard instead of lying down.

"Are you going to sleep?" she asked, looking up at him.

He deliberated for a moment, and then sighed, sliding down the bed until he was lying level with her, staring up at the canopy.

He could feel her watching him still, and then tensed as he felt her move, shifting onto her side to face him. He continued to stare straight ahead.

"Severus?" came her voice after some time, filled with uncertainty.

"Forgive me," he said after clearing his throat, which seemed to have suddenly become rather dry. "It's been a while since I've shared my bed with anyone."

_Social niceties aren't the only thing you need to practice_, he thought. Then again, he'd never much got _into_ the practice of showing affection. His life hadn't exactly been conducive to longevity in anything, especially relationships.

She moved closer, her head resting on his arm just below the shoulder, and he could feel the warmth of her body against his.

"I've never shared, so we're even there," she commented through a yawn.

He froze. Did she mean she'd never... she was... _No, you idiot_, he told himself. _She's talking about sleeping_.

He exhaled slowly and tried to ignore his baser instincts, suddenly stirring as she shifted her head so her breath was warm on his neck.

Such a reaction was the last thing she needed from him tonight.

"Are you okay?"

He glanced sideways and realised she was watching him.

"Just thinking," he said lamely.

She yawned and shifted again, resting one hand comfortably across his ribs. His wand was out of reach, unless he disturbed her, but a murmured spell extinguished the lights; the darkness with the curtains closed was absolute.

"Severus?" she said, her voice muffled by his shirt and her own hair.

"Mmm?"

Her hand found his in the darkness and, after a moment, she said, "I forgive you."

It wasn't that she needed to say it for her own peace of mind; she had forgiven him before she even entered his rooms today. It was he who needed to hear it.

"Go to sleep, Hermione," was his only answer.

Her breathing evened out as she finally fell into an exhausted slumber, but Snape lay there, staring up into the darkness.

When morning came, he was still wide awake.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Notes:_

_As always, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! Comments, questions and criticism are always welcome – it's the only way I know if I'm doing something right or wrong!_

_The Invisibility Cloak – unlike the twins' Headless Hats, the magic doesn't extend beyond the confines of the cloak. It does, however, hide your face completely if you have the hood up. It wouldn't be practical to have to wrap up your whole face the remain hidden!_

_October 31st, sixteen years ago: At present in this story, it's March 1997. The Potters were killed on Halloween night of the year 1981… so it's fifteen and a half years, actually, but who's counting:P_


	32. Slowly But Surely

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 32**

In the days that followed the incident in the dungeons, Hermione was putting on a brave face in front of the teachers, her friends and even him, but Snape knew what had happened was never far from her mind.

She had been exempted from classes on Friday morning and, after staying with him Thursday night, he found himself watching her as she stirred from sleep. It had taken her a moment to realise where she was, curled up against his side, and he'd unthinkingly reached out to brush her hair back from her eyes. She had shied away from him violently at the sudden movement, letting out a small cry of fright. He had withdrawn quickly, horrified at the notion she thought he was going to hit her. She had blushed and stammered an apology about still being half-asleep, and therefore startled.

It wasn't the last time she'd flinched like that, though. That afternoon, Dumbledore and McGonagall had joined them in his rooms for a discussion on numerous things, including what had become of the two young Slytherins who had set upon her. Hermione's Head of House hadn't seen her flinch when she placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Snape, sitting opposite, had.

Her castle patrols had been cancelled; Dumbledore truly believed the threat to have been nullified, but McGonagall, unwilling to take chances, had argued with him, saving Snape the trouble himself. Her duties had been distributed amongst the fifth-year Gryffindor prefects, who were more than willing to take on the extra duties. The Headmaster had announced at breakfast on Friday morning that two students had been expelled after a callous attack on another, stating firmly that such behaviour would be dealt with swiftly and harshly. It hadn't taken long for the students to deduce who was missing, and rumours of what might have happened were flying thick and fast around the castle, only compounded by the fact no one, save Harry, seemed to have seen Hermione since the incident.

Snape couldn't say he was displeased to learn Crabbe and Goyle were being held in a temporary prison at the Ministry of Magic while the Aurors finished their questioning. He hoped with savage pleasure that Mad-Eye Moody was one of their interrogators; they would both be a snivelling mess once he'd finished with them. Snape couldn't admit he would be disappointed if they ended up in Azkaban, either. He had tried to give all his Slytherins, even the sons of known Death Eaters, the benefit of the doubt in the hope at least one of them would refuse the path their parents wished for them to take. He held nothing but contempt for Hermione's two attackers, though, whom he couldn't recall having had a thought for themselves in the entire seven years he'd taught them. It was a wonder they had the nerve to carry out the attack.

One thing that was puzzling Hermione – she'd mentioned it to him the previous night, and brought it up again with Dumbledore and McGonagall present – was why she had been their target.

"I know, I'm friends with Harry," she said, "but did they honestly think they could lure him into a trap using me as bait?"

Snape opened his mouth to say that was exactly what they thought, given Potter's bungled mercy-dash to the Ministry of Magic, two years ago, but Hermione saw him move to speak and cut him off before he could begin.

"He wouldn't run off to save me like he tried to do with Sirius," she said waspishly, "even if there was proof they actually had me. He learnt his lesson last time."

"So he'd just leave you to their mercy?" Snape sneered. "I hardly think so."

She glowered at him.

"For what it's worth," he continued, ignoring her look, "I don't think they wanted you because of Potter."

"I don't see what else it could be," McGonagall said, refilling her empty teacup and offering to do the same for him. He shook his head, and she added, "But, then again, I can't fathom their reasoning for this at all."

"What are you thinking, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, watching him curiously. Hermione, too, was looking confused.

He stood up, pacing a path in front of the fireplace. He'd been thinking on this much of last night, lying awake next to Hermione, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

"Just think," he began. "You escaped Crabbe and Goyle once before, which was enough provocation for _them_ to try to hurt you again, but their orders came from the Dark Lord himself, this time. Have you noticed anything… unusual… about the Death Eaters' activities lately?"

He looked at the other three occupants of the room. McGonagall shook her head and Hermione frowned, but there was a thinking look on the Headmaster's face.

"Your potion," Dumbledore said eventually, and Snape nodded.

"Exactly. Despite the Dark Lord now having the instructions and ingredients for making the potion, there hasn't been sight or sound of it since my discovery. Why?"

"Wait," Hermione interjected. "You mean, he wanted me to brew the potion for him? Why would he need me to make it? I don't even know how!"

"But _he_ doesn't know that," Snape continued. "He is aware you were working closely with me, and I believe he assumed I had taught you to brew the Cruciatus potion. I also believe that whoever he assigned to brew the potion for him failed and told him the method or ingredients were incomplete."

"But they weren't-" she started to say, and he held up his hand to be allowed to continue.

"It was complete and accurate," he confirmed, "but perhaps not detailed enough for an amateur potions brewer. There are things I omitted from the instructions because they're second nature to me; I've mentioned many of them in passing to you, too, but not needed to note them down because, unlike most of your classmates, you actually pay attention. A silver knife used to chop ingredients will contaminate the Wolfsbane potion, proving fatal to the drinker; a metal stirring rod in an iron cauldron must never touch the bottom or sides, else a spark between the two could cause an explosion; the magnetic properties of hematite will react differently in an iron cauldron than a brass one, so when brewing the Cruciatus – which must be made in iron - it needs to be added in an infusion of mugwort to ensure it is properly distributed throughout the potion. These are things casual potion-makers won't consider because the brews they are used to preparing don't require such precision."

"The Cruciatus, though," he continued, trying to keep the lecturing tone from his voice for the benefit of the other teachers, "must be exact in preparation and brewing. An ingredient sliced a quarter of an inch too thick, the smallest speck of dust in the cauldron, could be disastrous. You saw how many failures I had with the antidote; the original was even more complex. Pettigrew, when spying on us, must have mistakenly told the Dark Lord you were helping me brew it, and they were planning to have you make it for them."

"He was wasting his time," she said fiercely. "I wouldn't have done it."

"Yes, you would have," he replied darkly. When she opened her mouth to argue, he added quietly, "He can be very persuasive. Your defiance wouldn't have lasted a day."

She closed her mouth, the frightened look on her face conveying her comprehension of what sort of persuasion he was referring to.

"Yes, well," said McGonagall, looking vaguely disturbed herself, "we can thank Merlin it didn't come to that."

Dumbledore and McGonagall left shortly afterwards, suggesting, if Hermione was feeling up to it, she might come down to the Great Hall for dinner. It would dispel some of the rumours about her absence, and her other friends were anxious to see her, at any rate. She agreed, but hung back when they took the Floo back to the Headmaster's office.

"Perhaps you might also return Potter's cloak to him tonight?" Snape asked. She nodded, and he retrieved the cloak from the chair tucked under his desk, where he'd hastily shoved it out of the view of the Headmaster. He held it out to her, and she folded it over one arm.

"Thank you for letting me stay," she said, a light blush creeping over her cheeks. "I don't think I can... sleep alone… yet."

"See how you go tonight," he said, turning from her to clear the plates and cups from the coffee table with a wave of his wand.

"Tonight?" He heard the slight note of panic in her voice, and turned back to see it reflected in her eyes, too.

"You shouldn't stay here again," he said. As much as the idea of sharing his bed with her every night was appealing – even if it was merely because she didn't want to be alone – it wouldn't help her in the long run. She needed to face her fear and realise she was safe in her own room, and the sooner she did so, the better for her it would be.

"Professor Dumbledore said-"

"It's not about that, Hermione." He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her. "I know what you're trying to do, but the longer you leave it to be alone again, the harder it will be. You'll be perfectly safe in your room. Your friends are nearby if you need them, and I'm only a Floo call away."

She looked at him, twisting her fingers nervously in the folds of the cloak, trepidation still written clearly on her face.

He sighed, stepped forwards, and placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning down so his face was level with hers.

"You'll be fine," he said firmly.

She held his gaze for a beat longer, but then nodded, dropping her eyes and stepping back towards the fireplace to leave.

She glanced over her shoulder once more as she tossed down the Floo powder and called out to be taken to her room. He tried to fixed what he hoped was a reassuring smile rather than a grimace on his face.

* * *

A few days later, Snape was wondering if he had indeed made the right decision in forcing her to confront her fears so quickly.

She said she was fine when he enquired, but he knew her well enough by now to recognise she wasn't being entirely truthful with him. He could tell from the darkening circles under her eyes that she wasn't sleeping well, if at all.

When Dumbledore had connected the Floo network from his sitting room to her room in Gryffindor Tower, it was to avoid any more thoughtless ventures into the dungeons and to avert suspicion from anyone wondering why she was always disappearing into both his office and that first-floor door. The Headmaster had sternly told him it was for Hermione's use only and Snape had tried to appear galled at the insinuation.

Still, it was tempting to use it, even just to make sure she was all right. Pacing his bedroom in the early hours of Monday morning, he couldn't help but think of her; was she wide awake, too? The more tired she looked each day, the harder it was each night for him to resist going to her, Dumbledore's warning be damned. She seemed to have had no trouble falling asleep in his presence that first night, and it had probably been foolish of him to force her to return to her own room after that, when what she needed most was to feel safe and to be able to sleep without fear. If his presence could give her the rest she needed, especially with her NEWTs fast approaching, how could Dumbledore really disapprove?

He had spoken to Dumbledore about the Unbreakable Vow, too. For some reason, he found himself telling the old man he had gone to the Hospital Wing to visit Hermione. The Headmaster seemed surprised and disappointed, but not particularly angry. He admitted, even before Albus had a chance to berate him, that it had been a rather inane thing to do.

The main problem, though, was the danger of someone managing to enter his rooms; it was clear, when he explained Hermione's fear to the Headmaster, that the possibility hadn't occurred to the him, either. Realising the danger, he rescinded his words, restating Snape was not to leave his own rooms without his consent, except in peril of his life.

He supposed the last part was a concession of sorts... although it put paid to the idea of Flooing to Hermione's room to check on her.

Just fleetingly, it occurred to him that it would be nice to be free from the Vow altogether. He wondered at its continued existence; trust wasn't an issue anymore – of that he was sure – and he would never refuse Dumbledore anything he asked of him, Vow or no.

Still, it would be nice to show his loyalty out of only his own free will, and not a mixture of that and a two-decade-old magical binding.

He sighed. The Headmaster wouldn't start taking chances now.

* * *

Hermione saw Malfoy on Friday night, during her first appearance in the Great Hall since the incident. She spent much of the meal brushing off questions from all her classmates - she had no desire to tell anyone what had really happened – but she caught Malfoy watching her on numerous occasions.

Monday was her first opportunity to talk to him alone. She arrived early for Potions that morning in the hope that he would be there, too. The classroom door was open, oddly, and she peered in to see the Slytherin lounging at his desk near the front of the room.

She made her way to her own desk, just across the aisle, and he glanced up as she drew level with him.

"Granger," he said, looking behind him to make sure the classroom was empty but for the two of them. "Good to see you're back."

There was no malice in his tone; he seemed genuinely pleased to see her.

"Thanks," she said, then looked away, unnecessarily taking some parchment from her bookbag and laying it out on her desk. "I guess, I, uh, should be thanking you, from what I've been told."

"Yeah, well, being Head Boy isn't just a prestige symbol, you know. I have responsibilities to a lot of people."

There was something in his tone that made her look at him again, and she met his silver-grey eyes for a moment before he turned away to stare straight ahead at the blank blackboard. She wondered whether he was referring just to his responsibilities as a student leader of the school, or of those charged to him by his family or... others.

"To the other students?" she said, trying to sound casual.

He glanced at her again. "Amongst others."

There was no doubt in her mind now that he wasn't speaking of the school, and so, taking a chance, she commented, "I would think your actions on Wednesday night were as much a hindrance to some of your responsibilities as a help to others."

He looked startled, then almost angry, and finally a determined look came over him as he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could say a word, though, the door to the classroom swung open fully and Dumbledore entered.

"Ah, the two best students in the class, eager as always," he said with a smile.

Malfoy turned back to face the blackboard, his mouth fixed in a tight line, and Dumbledore winked at Hermione as he strode to the front. She growled under her breath, frustrated at the Headmaster's timing. If she'd had just a few more minutes, she might have been able to discover what Malfoy was really up to. As it was, the other students began to filter in, including Harry, who gave her a curious look. She shook her head, but resolved to tell both him and Ron what had happened later, and Severus as well.

She had finally made peace with Ron on Friday night, during a long conversation with her two best friends in the Room of Requirement; the common room was too noisy, and the other students were so curious about what had happened to her that she could hardly get a word in to her friends without someone else coming up to enquire about her wellbeing.

Hermione wondered whether Harry had persuaded Ron to make up with her, or whether it was the shock of what had happened that had made him realise how ridiculous he had been acting. Whatever the reason, he had apologised profusely for his idiocy, blaming his actions on jealousy at her spending so much time with Snape and so little with him.

"I felt like I'd lost a friend," he had explained. "You were hardly around anymore, and when you were you had so much homework to do that we hardly spoke anyway."

He was right, Hermione had conceded. It hadn't occurred to her earlier, but her sudden absence from the common room, the Great Hall, and during most other times in between classes must have been hard on both of her friends. They were all used to doing everything as a trio, and suddenly she disappeared for hours at a time. On occasion, particularly the week following Severus' discovery by Voldemort, she had barely seen Harry or Ron outside class at all.

Now, Hermione made an effort to spend more time with both of them. They sat in the common room long after curfew, talking or revising _her_ class notes, since the other two hardly bothered to take any themselves. The conversation on Monday night, once the common room had cleared of other students, centred on Malfoy. Hermione told both of them what had happened before Potions that morning, and filled Ron in on the other strange conversation she'd had with Malfoy, the day she had taken Snape's owl up to its new home.

Harry and Ron were as confused as she was about the Slytherin's strange behaviour. None of them could deny he'd been different this year; he'd hardly spoken a word to Ron, whom he usually wasted no opportunity in ridiculing. None of them, though, were willing to bet on his motives, and the only way the situation would be resolved was if Malfoy or Dumbledore made a move.

Hermione had a slightly ulterior motive to the time she was spending with her friends. She was still reluctant to return to the solitude of her own room; sleep, tired as she was, seemed more elusive than ever.

As a child, Hermione had never been afraid of the dark. Moths and thunderstorms had frightened her, and she had been more scared of the cyclone than the witch in _The Wizard of Oz_, but the darkness had never bothered her at all.

Now, though, in the days since the attack in the dungeons, she was dreading the hours of darkness spent alone in her room. Thursday night in Snape's quarters was the only night she'd slept soundly since, and the lack of sleep was starting to wear her down.

Each night when her Harry and Ron yawned and decided to head up to their dormitory for bed, the unease of retreating to her own room crept up on her again. She knew she was perfectly safe in her room, but she couldn't help but check the wardrobe, under the bed and in the other numerous dark corners of the room, just to reassure herself she was alone.

Crookshanks slept in her room, of course, and that should have allayed her fears, too. After all, it was he who had first realised there was something unusual about Ron's rat, Scabbers, back in their third year. The first time after the attack that she woke to his rustling in the corner of the room, though, she snatched her wand from the bedside table and sent a blinding _Lumos_ out across the room, illuminating every dark crevice and corner. She supposed, in hindsight, it was lucky for her half-Kneazle that a Stunning Spell hadn't been the first thing to come into her mind.

She had no doubt Snape had been serious about her coming to him if she needed to, but she was reluctant to confess her weakness, even to him. She knew it was silly of her to be so afraid, but the rational side of her brain just didn't seem to be able to convey that to the emotional side, or to the rest of her body. More than once, she woke shaking, covered in a cold sweat, phantom hands still pinning her to a hard, cold floor even though she lay in her soft, warm bed.

Tuesday night, after four previous nights of restless, nightmare-filled sleep and long hours spent staring into the dark, afraid to go _back_ to sleep, she was so tired she thought nothing could keep her awake. She left the common room early, trying to pre-empt the nervousness she had previously felt by being the first to leave. She forced herself not to check her room for unknown occupants; instead, she changed into her pyjamas and quickly climbed into bed. Crookshanks jumped up and settled down near her feet, and she glanced around the room once more before murmuring, "_Nox_," and setting her wand on the bedside table.

Lying back and staring into the darkness, she concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply. _There's no one else here but Crooks_, she told herself firmly, the silence of the room confirming her thoughts. _There's no one else here_, she kept repeating, and the mantra lulled her into relaxation, and finally, sleep.

The floor was hard and cold beneath her, roughly scraping her hands where they were pinned above her head. Somewhere in the back of her mind, something was telling her she was asleep, dreaming, and if she opened her eyes she would wake up.

She did, only to see the dark bulk of those two leering Slytherins looming over her; one above her head, holding her hands tightly, and the other coming towards her from the other direction.

_No_, she thought. _I'm still asleep. It's not happening again. Wake _up_, Hermione!_

But she couldn't wake up. Suddenly, a heavy weight was pinning her chest as her second attacker knelt over her. She struggled, trying to push him away, but she couldn't move.

A hand brushed her throat and she panicked, twisting underneath the body pinning hers in a vain attempt to escape. As she twisted, she caught a glimpse of the corridor beyond and a shadowy figure leaning against the wall a short distance away. Was it Draco? He was going to help her, wasn't he?

As she struggled more desperately, the figure came into view again, and she realised with a start it was Snape; he was wearing his teaching robes and watching the scene dispassionately, his arms folded across his chest.

"Severus!" She suddenly found her voice, calling out to him even as the hands around her neck tightened their grip.

"Help me, Severus! Please!"

He didn't move, didn't even blink, and she felt other cold hands fumbling with her clothing, pushing it out of the way.

"Severus, what is wrong with you? Why won't you help me?" she screamed, tears pouring down her face as she fought against her assailants as hard as she could.

He still didn't answer, and she suddenly realised the two Slytherins hadn't made a sound, either. What was going on?

She tried to move her hands again, realising they were no longer pinned above her head, but tangled in fabric of some sort at her sides. It wasn't her robes... she wasn't wearing her robes. Choking back a sob, she raised her hands to push at the weight on her chest again and came into contact with… fur?

She really woke this time, bolting upright and sending Crookshanks flying from where he had curled up on her chest some time during the night. Tears still pouring down her face, she stumbled out of bed, almost tripping on the covers that had twisted around her. In her panicked flight, she didn't even stop to grab her wand from the bedside table. The only thought in her mind was that she couldn't spend another moment alone; she had to get to someone - to safety - and the closest person was Severus.

She ran blindly the half-dozen steps across her room to the fireplace, fumbled for the Floo powder and gasped out her destination as she stepped into the fire.

* * *

Snape slept lightly, and so when the whoosh of the Floo echoed through his chambers in the early hours of the morning, he was instantly alert, reaching for his wand on the bedside cabinet.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up as the soft sound of bare feet reached his ears; a moment later, the bedroom door was pushed open and a figure came rushing towards him.

A defensive hex died on his lips as he realised it was Hermione, but he barely had time to lower his wand before she reached him, throwing her arms around his bare torso and sending him off-balance, forcing him to half-sit, half-fall back onto the edge of the bed.

He snapped a spell to bring some light into the room, and then managed to set his wand back where it had been. Putting his hands on her shoulders, bare but for the thin straps of her singlet, he pushed her gently back from where she was clinging to him, shaking, so he could see her face. Tears were running down her cheeks, and she was wild-eyed and terrified as she stared at him.

"What is it? What's wrong?" A flood of ideas as to what had her so distraught crossed his mind, from the terrifying thought someone else had tried to attack her to the completely ridiculous thought that she'd taken her NEWTs early, without telling anyone, and had failed them.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against the flood of tears, her whole body shaking in an effort to suppress her sobs. "I- I can't-" she managed to gasp out before her breath caught in her throat again.

He was silent, still gripping her shoulders in what he hoped was a steadying grasp. He normally loathed dealing with emotional people. His Slytherins had received nothing more than a scathing remark unless they had an exceptionally good reason for coming to him in emotional distress, but Hermione was different. For some inexplicable reason, seeing her in such a state tugged at heartstrings he hadn't realised he still possessed until recently. These near-hysterics were disturbing him to the point where he had to stop himself from shaking her to calm her down.

Her shoulders were cold to the touch. The constant temperature charms on all the students' sleeping quarters had its disadvantages; summer was still along way off and, in her panic, she had come to him without a thought for herself, her thin pyjamas inadequate in the cooler air of his quarters.

"Aren't you cold?" he said, rubbing his hands up and down her bare upper arms. She nodded mutely and he sighed, pulling her closer and trying to transfers some of his own warmth to her. She clung to him again, still shaking.

After a few minutes, though, he realised she was still standing on the cold floor and cursed himself for not noticing earlier. She made a small cry of protest as he pulled back from her again, but he shifted back on the bed and pulled her up next to him, drawing the warm comforter up over her as she lay against him.

Her panicked, choking sobs gave way to hiccupping breaths, but she still didn't speak. She quieted further as he held her, and when she had been silent for some time, he cleared his throat quietly and said, "Are you all right?"

He felt her nod against his shoulder.

"Are you going to tell me what has you so upset as to come down here in the middle of the night?"

"Idadrm," she murmured unintelligibly.

"Pardon?"

"I had a dream," she said more clearly, raising her head a little to look up at him.

"About the… dungeons?" he asked, the pieces suddenly falling into place. If this was what happened when she dreamed, no wonder she'd been looking so tired each day.

She nodded again, and then whispered, "You were there this time."

His eyes snapped back to her, but she was looking away from him, her own eyes brimming again in the soft light.

"It's just that I'm so tired," she whispered, her voice catching on a sob. "Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is those two advancing on me, like it's all happening again. And this time you were there, you were just standing there, watching. You wouldn't do anything, and I couldn't understand why. I was screaming, and it was like you couldn't even hear me."

His chest tightened painfully at the vivid description, and he pulled her against him more securely. "You know that would never happen, Hermione," he said gently, but with a firmness in his tone that brooked no argument. "You know I would never just... just stand there and let anything like that happen."

He pushed aside his ever-present guilt over the incident being his fault in the first place. She'd forgiven him for that, at least, even if he couldn't yet forgive himself.

"I know that," she said tearfully, "just like I know my room is safe. I _know_ it but I just can't bring myself to _believe_ it… it was just so _real_."

"I would imagine your dream was all the more vivid due to your lack of sleep these past days." Her hand, which had been absently tracing the line of his collarbone, stopped. "You haven't been sleeping at all, have you?"

She shook her head. "Not since I stayed here," she whispered. "I just can't... I can't bring myself to let my guard down. Do you know what I mean?"

He couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle at that, and a faint smile came onto her face as she realised the irony of her words, too. She seemed glad he wasn't mocking her for her weakness, but it was the farthest thing from his mind.

"Yes, I do," he said after a moment, "and I owe you an apology. I underestimated the effect everything has had on you. If I'd known, I wouldn't have-"

A finger on his mouth silenced him as she sat up, turning to face him. Her eyes were still red, but there was a determination in them as she spoke. "None of this is your fault, Severus," she said. "You did what you thought was best, and it would have been if I was a stronger person."

"Stronger?" he echoed in disbelief. "Hermione, you have handled this better than anyone could be expected to. This past week – no, this whole _year_ – you've been through more than anyone your age should be expected to handle, and you've taken it all in your stride with dignity and grace. I forget sometimes, in your maturity, how young you are to be dealing with all of this. You should have come to me; I wouldn't have thought any less of you for being frightened."

"I know," she replied with a sigh, turning and leaning back against the pillows again. "_I_ would have thought less of myself, though. I'm usually so rational about everything but this just... threw me. I think I'll at least be able to think straight after I get a decent night of sleep."

"Starting with tonight," he affirmed. "Or, at least, what's left of the night. Are you comfortable enough here?"

She looked sideways at him.

"You'll let me stay?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, Hermione, I'm going to kick you out of my bed and make you sleep on the floor."

She let out a soft snort of amusement, and it pleased him that he could still make her laugh under the circumstances.

"You're not the only one who's been woken in the middle of the night," he added, reaching across her for his wand and extinguishing the light. "I would imagine we could both use some sleep."

He heard rather than saw her yawn in the sudden darkness, and then felt her shift down to lie with her head on the pillow. He lay back, too, pulling the comforter up but leaving his arms free. Lying on his back, he could sense she was facing him; each exhalation of her breath was warming the exposed skin of his shoulder.

"Are you still awake?" came her whisper in the darkness; it could have been minutes or hours after he had extinguished the lights.

"Hmm."

She didn't say anything else, but instead shifted closer to him. He felt her icy toes brush his bare feet at she stretched her legs out beside his, and one of her small hands came to rest on his stomach. He moved his arm almost automatically, placing it around her shoulders as she shifted closer still.

The thin cotton of her singlet was useless in blocking out the warmth now emanating from her skin, or the steady thud of her heartbeat beneath that. Had it not been so dark, he was sure he would have been able to see the slight swell of her breasts, rising and falling with each breath at the low neckline of her top.

As it was, he could feel the warm, bare skin against his own.

He swallowed thickly, feigning finding a more comfortable position in order to shift his lower body away from her a bit. A week ago, she would probably have been delighted in his reaction to her closeness. Now, though... he didn't know. If she was still having nightmares of what the two Slytherins had almost done to her, the last thing she needed was to feel the same reaction from him, even if his intentions were completely different.

"Is this all right?" she murmured, sleep already starting to cloud her speech.

_More than all right_, he found himself thinking. Aloud, he merely said, "It's fine."

She fell asleep shortly afterwards. He listened to her soft, even breathing for a while, but when no outwards signs of the nightmare that had plagued her earlier appeared, he found himself growing drowsy, too.

His last coherent thought before he succumbed to sleep was that he had better awaken before her the next morning, lest his body betray him and give away exactly how _all right_ the situation was.

* * *

Over the next week and a half, the lingering fear of what had happened to Hermione in the dungeons wore off, and she found herself again able to sleep alone without being plagued by horrible dreams.

That wasn't to say she _did _sleep alone, though. Not every night, at least.

Snape never asked her to stay, but when she yawned and tentatively suggested it the night after her terrified flight to his rooms, he simply nodded, stood up from where he was sitting at his desk, walked over to where she was seated on the couch and held out his hand to her.

She stayed away the night after that, just to prove to herself that she could. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Snape was, as he had said, only a Floo call away that enabled her to go to bed calmly and without fear that night. Whatever it was, she slept soundly and didn't awaken until the magical clock above her desk started whining, its single hand – her own face, wearing an exasperated expression – pointing to 'Late!'

She went down to Snape's quarters on Friday afternoon feeling exceptionally pleased with herself. Her mood dissipated quickly, though, when he didn't seem to share her happiness at such success.

It was probably a silly thing for her to be so excited about, anyway, but she was proud of herself.

Snape was in the lab experimenting again – another variation of the Wolfsbane that he hoped Lupin would consent to test this month. _Perhaps he's just distracted_, she thought, as she set about brewing in her own corner of the workroom.

Stirring the simple Calming Draught a short while later, she allowed her mind to wander and came back to the topic again. She watched him across the room as he added a sprinkling of a fine powder to the steaming glass cauldron, watched for the mixture's reaction, and then scribbled another line of notes on the nearby parchment, indecipherable to all but the writer. His face was fixed in a frown, a deep line between his brows.

She finished her brewing a short time later and bottled the potion to take to the Hospital Wing. It was still before curfew, so she stacked the bottles in a small crate and then walked over to the bench where Snape was still working.

"I'll take these up to Madam Pomfrey," she said, "and then I thought I might have an early night. If Gryffindor wins Quidditch tomorrow, I doubt I'll get much sleep."

He spared her a quick glance over the top of the phial into which he was measuring a silvery liquid, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Sleep well," was all he said.

_He must just be distracted_, she thought again, confused and a little hurt, as she walked up to the Hospital Wing and then on to Gryffindor Tower.

Later that night, though, she thought on what he'd said again, and it occurred to her that maybe he wasn't distracted; he was without distraction.

She developed a pleasantly warm feeling in her stomach every time he called her a distraction; the term was used between them in good humour, and she sometimes found her thoughts wandering, in class or during a meal in the Great Hall when her friends were talking amongst themselves, thinking of new ways to distract him... not that she would ever have the courage to try half of them, but it was pleasant to think about, nevertheless.

Perhaps he was disappointed that, although she was finally recovered from the altercation in the dungeons, she would no longer be coming to him at night. He still seemed uneasy about their relationship going any further, despite the Headmaster more or less giving his consent, and so she had assumed Snape only meant for her to come to him as long as she needed another presence to be able to sleep.

Had she been mistaken? Had it really been an open offer for her to come to him without such a reason?

Both curious and confused, she decided to test her theory the following night.

Gryffindor narrowly beat Hufflepuff on Saturday afternoon and, predictably, the celebrations went late into the night. With the help of the Gryffindor prefects and Professor McGonagall, Hermione finally managed to convince the last of the revellers to head up to their dormitories just before midnight.

A short while later, in her own room, Hermione tossed her open robe over her pyjamas and took a pinch of Floo powder, calling out to be taken to Snape's quarters.

He came out of the lab just as she emerged from the fireplace, and she saw him frown as he took in her attire.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head, and he looked confused.

"Are you still brewing?"

"No, I'm just cleaning up," he said. "Will you wait a moment?"

She nodded and stood nervously as he disappeared back into the lab, uncertainly suddenly creeping back into her mind. What if she'd mistaken his discontent for something it wasn't. What if he sent her back to her room, shame-faced, after berating her for her presumptuousness?

He came back into the sitting room before she had a chance to wonder any further, closing the lab door behind him. Seeing her still standing where he'd left her, he folded his arms, giving her a curious look.

"So…?"

The open-ended question wasn't what she'd expected, and she stumbled over her words, a flush suddenly rising in her cheeks at the idea of... well, she wasn't really propositioning him, so to speak... was she?

"I, um... everyone's finally stopped celebrating," she said hesitantly. "They've all gone to sleep... and I thought I might... well, I thought I could stay… I mean, if it's all right with you, of course, because it's your bed, but I thought you might like-"

She broke off when the twitching of his upper lip suddenly turned into a smirk, and then a deep chuckle broke forth from his throat.

She stared at him, unsure whether he was laughing at her offer or just at her nervousness.

"Hermione," he said, shaking his head in bemusement, "I've told you before, you don't need an invitation. You're welcome here any time."

"Here, yes," she said, "but-"

"_Anywhere_ here," he emphasised. "I would have brought it up myself, but I thought you were content, now that you're sleeping well enough again."

"Well, I am," she said. "I mean, it's good that I'm not frightened, but I wasn't only here because I was scared. It's strange... I was here for two nights, and now every time I wake up keep expecting to turn over and find you there. I became used to it rather quickly, really."

He stared at her for a moment and then his face softened. Stepping closer, he took her chin in one hand and tilted it up. He lowered his own head, and she could hardly stop herself licking her lips in anticipation.

"You're most welcome to become used to it again," he murmured silkily, and then brushed his lips across hers, along her jaw and down onto that sensitive patch of skin just below her ear.

She tilted her head back, gripping the fabric of his shirt to ground herself as his actions sent a tingle of pleasure down her spine.

"I could definitely become used to this," she breathed, and his low chuckled vibrated deliciously on her skin as he continued his path from her neck to her shoulder, pushing just the edge of her robe aside.

He stopped there, though, much to her frustration. He straightened, stepping back from her a fraction and confirming, "You're staying, then?"

She didn't seem to be able to find her voice, so she simply nodded.

"Come, then," he said, dousing the lit torches with a word, leaving only the glow of the dying fire to light the room. Hermione followed him through to the bedroom; it, too, was almost completely dark, lit only by the white light of the quarter moon filtering in through the window.

"I won't be a moment. Make yourself comfortable," he said, picking up something from a chair and disappearing into the bathroom.

She stood, undecided, for a moment, before shrugging out of her robe and draping it over the back of the chair. She withdrew her wand from one of the pockets and approached the bed, setting it on the side table.

As she pulled back the corner of the comforter and climbed in beneath it, nervousness overcame her again. His earlier actions had set a slow fire burning somewhere below the pit of her stomach, but now she was suddenly uncertain of what was going to happen.

She lay down, twisted her fingers nervously in the edge of the comforter, and waited.

If Snape sensed her renewed nervousness when he re-emerged from the bathroom dressed in only his sleep pants, he didn't say anything. He climbed in beside her and lay down on his side, facing her with his head propped up on one arm.

She didn't want him to see the tension on her face in case he took it the wrong way, so instead of turning to face him, she turned away and then shifted backwards until her back came into contact with his chest.

She sighed softly as his arm came to rest on her waist.

"Tired?" he asked after a moment.

"A little," she admitted. "It's been a busy day."

"Yes," he agreed. "I hear Slytherin will be beating Gryffindor this year to win the Cup."

"Whatever you say, Severus," she snorted, but she was glad he didn't seem disappointed she merely wanted to sleep… tonight, anyway. She was grateful that he was being so patient with her. He wasn't a patient man by anyone's standards, particularly when it came to something he wanted.

It both flattered and frightened her a little that he so clearly wanted her, but she knew he was holding back, waiting for her to do something, or say something, to encourage him to continue. Without the incident in the dungeons the previous week, her apprehension would probably have been overshadowed by her own desire for him. Even now, though, and even with Snape, who she trusted implicitly, she still experienced the odd moment of claustrophobia, a fear of being confined or smothered. It had never been a problem for her prior to last week, and she only hoped it wouldn't linger for long.

It didn't, and Hermione made a point of staying with him the next Saturday night, too, as well as a few nights in between. Weekend nights were better, she concluded; she had no desire to get up in time for her first class when she could sleep in, but Snape always seemed to be up before she awoke, anyway.

It puzzled her until, on the Sunday morning of the next weekend, she discovered why. Yawning, she stretched a little, pressing back into the warm body behind her. As she moved, her body came into contact with the hardness of his morning erection, warm against the back of her thigh, even through his pants.

She froze, her face flushing, but then she realised from his even breathing that he was still asleep. _No wonder he's been getting up before I'm awake_, she thought, smiling to herself.

He shifted in his sleep, flexing his hips towards her, and his arm tightened around her waist. She was definitely over her claustrophobia, she decided. The only thing she could think about in that moment _was_ being smothered, pinned down and thoroughly ravished by him. She leant back into him, shifting down a little, and warmth flooded the lower regions of her abdomen as the tented cotton of his pants pressed against her bottom.

He moved again, and she heard his breathing hitch as he struggled from sleep to wakefulness.

Something told her he would be mortified if he knew she was awake, and so she feigned sleep, turning her head so her hair obscured the hot flush of her face.

A moment later, he woke up properly, and she heard him curse softly and roll away from her.

There was the rustle of the comforter, and then the bed moved as he stood up. Soft footfalls signalled his retreat across the room, and a moment later Hermione heard the bathroom door close quietly.

She rolled into her back, wondering even then why she hadn't just turned around when he awoke and... and what? She sighed. Spontaneity just wasn't her strong point.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Notes:_

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, as always. Comments and suggestions are always welcome. It's getting a little warm down here at this time of year for flames, but I could use them to burn all my uni notes, I suppose. :P_

_Sorry if anyone got the feeling something else wink wink was going to happen in this chapter. It will happen eventually, if that's any consolation, and my disclaimer does say I like to play with them..._

_Yes, I know the windstorm in _The Wizard of Oz_ is actually a tornado, but it's called a cyclone in my version of the book, and in the movie, too, I think. Considering what Hermione has grown up to be, I thought it would be fitting for her to be more afraid of the storm than the witch._

_Thanks to Potion Mistress (rather appropriately) for her help with potions ingredients in this chapter._


	33. Risks and Rodents

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 33**

Snape finally seemed to be making progress in his experimentation with the Wolfsbane Potion. Last month, the potion had been a lighter shade of grey-green than Snape expected, and he wasn't willing to take the chance that a miscalculation had turned the innocuous brew into a poison. Though Lupin had been willing to take the chance, save waiting another month to try it again, the Headmaster had agreed with Snape, and the botched potion had been Vanished without further discussion. The last thing they needed, Snape had said when Hermione lamented the wasted month, was to put another member of the Order unnecessarily at risk.

This month, though, after further research and calculations, Snape was convinced the potion was sound. It wasn't a cure by any stretch of the imagination, but if it worked as Snape predicted, one dose of the potion would protect the drinker for an entire moon cycle. All that was left was for him to brew it, a marathon fourteen-hour job that could take place only on the afternoon and night of the first quarter moon.

Hermione came down to Snape's quarters that night to make use of some of his books for her Arithmancy revision. She found him in the lab after dinner, deep in the most complicated stages of the brewing. The Wolfsbane variation was a charmed potion like the Cruciatus antidote, and sweat was already running down Snape's face from the effort of the spells combined with such deep concentration.

She couldn't help; she didn't have the skill to perform the incantations or add the ingredients with the precision required, so she stepped back out into the sitting room, leaving the door just ajar. As much as she could have sat and watched Snape brewing for hours, mesmerized by his precision and skill, she didn't dare disturb him. A mistake now would mean another wasted month.

She was anxious to know whether he was successful tonight, though, and so, instead of retreating to her own room when she finished her homework, she decided to stay. She went back to her room briefly to put away her homework, changed into her pyjamas – more modest than the skimpy shorts she'd been embarrassed to find herself in the morning after her nightmare – threw her robe back on over the top and returned to Snape's quarters.

She knew he wouldn't mind, if he even made it to bed that night at all. It pleased her that he allowed her to stay with him whenever she desired... more than allowed it... enjoyed it. Despite his initial discomfort at sharing the hours of darkness with another person, there was no such reluctance now. It was strange how quickly both of them had become used to being together.

She read for a while, another book plucked from his extensive collection and, to her continued surprise, another Muggle author. Her eyelids grew heavy, though, and she set the book on the nightstand, extinguishing the light with a wave of her wand. The room plunged into complete darkness and, after a moment, she got out of bed and groped her way to the window to pull the curtains halfway open.

She could have used the spell Snape had taught her, but she quite liked standing in front of the window, looking out across the landscape. Though only on the first floor, the room still had a commanding view over Hogwarts' grounds, the lake, a section of the Forbidden Forest and Hogsmeade, far in the distance. Tonight was crisp and clear, and the quarter moon's shimmer danced on the surface of the still, smooth lake.

After a few minutes, the coldness seeping through the glass and up through the stones of the floor became noticeable, and she went back to bed. Snuggling down under the warm covers, she turned on her side to face the window. She could still see the far horizon and the lights of Hogsmeade, dim in the distance.

She stared at them for a while, until the lights blurred as her eyes grew tired, and she finally fell asleep.

Hermione was woken again some time later as Snape crawled in bed next to her. It must have been close to dawn; she could see the moon hanging just over the horizon, close to setting ahead of the approaching day.

"What time is it?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Just before five," he murmured, and she felt the bed shifting as he lay down, one foot bumping hers when he stretched out beside her. "I apologise; I didn't mean to wake you."

"It doesn't matter." She yawned and rolled onto her back, dimly making out his face, turned slightly towards hers. "How did it go?"

"It seems to have worked," he said tiredly, "but I won't know for sure until tomorrow." His words were cautionary, but his eyes were shining in the darkness, and she could tell from the tone of his voice that he was pleased with the result.

"What did you do differently this time?" she asked, suddenly wide awake as she turned fully over to face him, eager to hear what was behind the success. Snape wasn't so eager, though, and he yawned hugely, shifting onto his back.

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow," he said, closing his eyes. "Or later today, at any rate."

The exhaustion was clear in his voice this time, and she bit back further questions. He fell asleep almost immediately, something that she had concluded in the past was rare. She'd seen how exhausted he had been after brewing the charmed preventative to the Cruciatus potion, though, and the one he'd just completed was even more complex, and took much longer to make.

She lay awake for some time, watching the silhouette of his chest rise and fall with his breathing. She couldn't help but think on what an achievement this would be, if it were successful. She only regretted that he wouldn't – couldn't – be recognised for his success. _Not now,_ she thought ruefully.

The words _not ever_ flitted across the back of her mind, but she brushed the thought away, not willing to examine what that would mean. She nestled closer to his side, and he shifted unconsciously, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. She sighed contentedly, and the warmth of his skin and the soft, even sound of his exhausted breaths eventually lulled her to sleep.

Later that morning, she awoke to find Snape still asleep beside her. He had shifted onto his stomach some time in the last few hours, one arm flung up on the pillow above her head. She pushed back the lank strands of hair hanging over his face and studied him in the harsh, early-morning light. He looked haggard and drawn; she hadn't realised, in the earlier darkness, just how much brewing the potion must have taken out of him.

She felt a twinge of regret at not offering her help, even knowing how little – if anything – she could have done to assist him. Just taking over stirring for a few minutes to give him a chance to rest would have been something, she surmised, rather too late.

He didn't even stir when she arose to go back to her own room. Before leaving, she went quietly into the lab, ignoring the cauldron of the new potion and going straight to the cabinet containing phials of completed potions. Frowning as she perused the shelves, she finally selected a phial each of Pepper-Up Potion, Invigoration Draught and a basic headache potion. Going back into the bedroom, she set the three, stoppered phials on the nightstand and glanced at him again. He slumbered on, so she drew the comforter up over his bare back, closed the curtains against the glare of the early-morning sun on the lake and left to prepare for her day of classes.

Her first lesson of the day was Defence, and she, Harry and Ron hung back at the end of the lesson to speak with Professor Lupin. They waited until the last of the other students exited the room, and Harry closed the door before coming to stand with the others.

"So, Hermione, how is that potion of Severus' coming along?" the Defence teacher asked, restoring the original layout of the classroom with a wave of his wand. The desks and chairs had been shifted at the beginning of the lesson to allow the students to practice their defensive hexes without obstruction.

"Very well," Hermione replied. Harry and Ron stood nearby, listening interestedly. "I think it's ready to be tested tonight, if you're still up for it."

"Certainly." Lupin sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms, regarding Hermione seriously. "I'm very lucky to have the Wolfsbane made for me each month as it is. Any improvement, though, is well worth the risk of testing it if it will be able to help us in the war."

"The war?" Ron questioned. Hermione nodded, but Harry looked curious, too.

"There are more werewolves in the country than most people think," Lupin began, waving the three of them into chairs. "Not all of them are loyal to Voldemort, but any that value their life are unwilling to show open hostility towards his cause. It is because of this, primarily, that werewolves have such a bad reputation with the wizarding population in general."

"It may not be a permanent cure, but this new potion will allow them a lot more freedom than Voldemort is able to offer. Werewolves that enjoy their transformations and use them as an excuse for killing are fewer in number than you would think. The others have no choice – not all are so lucky as to have the Wolfsbane made for them every month – and their isolation from society means they are forced to ally themselves with whoever can offer them the most. Now, we have a chance to offer them protection from Voldemort, and relative freedom from the pain of their transformations. Consequently, once this war is over, they will be able to live freely in society again without fear of harming themselves or others. It's an enticing concept, even to one such as myself, and I am luckier than most of my kind at the moment."

"That's brilliant," Ron breathed, looking distinctly impressed. "Snape's made a potion to do that?"

"We hope so," Hermione said solemnly.

Harry was more cautious, frowning in thought before he finally spoke.

"How do you know it's safe to drink?"

"We don't," Lupin said, holding up his hand to stall Harry's protest. "There is no way of knowing whether the theoretical predictions will match the end result without practical testing. I trust Severus' capabilities, and I am willing to take the risk."

Harry still looked slightly worried, but didn't make any further comment. They talked for a few minutes longer, until Hermione realised she and Harry were late for their next class, Potions.

They parted with Ron in the Entrance Hall and headed quickly down to the dungeons, arriving just as the other students were going to the store cupboard for their ingredients.

"Sorry we're late, sir," Hermione said to Dumbledore as she pulled her textbook from her bag. "We were talking with Professor Lupin."

"Not to worry, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said. "Perhaps I might also have a word with you at the end of the lesson?"

Hermione nodded, noticing as she turned to cross the classroom and fetch her own ingredients that Malfoy was watching her exchange with the Headmaster interestedly.

"Malfoy," she said in a stiff greeting as she walked past the front of his desk. He didn't say anything, but she felt his eyes following her to the ingredients cupboard. When she turned to go back to her desk, though, ingredients in hand, his eyes were on his cauldron, which was already starting to steam.

Hermione hung back at the end of the lesson to speak with Dumbledore. Malfoy seemed to be taking a long time to clean up his work area, glancing in her direction every so often, but when he realised Harry, too, was in the classroom, he quickened his pace and made a hasty retreat, scowling at Harry's back as the Gryffindor joined Hermione and the Headmaster at the front of the classroom.

"I take it you were discussing the potion with Professor Lupin?" Dumbledore enquired after closing the classroom door with a wave of his hand.

Hermione and Harry both nodded.

"I haven't spoken to Severus this morning," he continued, "but I am assuming last night's brewing was a success and the test will be going ahead?"

"I spoke with him after it was completed," Hermione said. "He seemed confident, but I didn't really get many details; he was exhausted by the time it was complete."

"Understandably." The Headmaster nodded. "If he has any reservations about it, he will no doubt voice them. Otherwise, perhaps you might inform Severus that Professor Lupin and I will be down shortly after the last class of the day."

"Of course, sir," Hermione affirmed. Wednesday afternoon was the time she usually spent in his lab anyway, brewing potions for Madam Pomfrey, and she was anxious to hear more about the potion before the time came to test it.

Harry had the afternoon free of classes, and was planning to join Ron out on the Quidditch pitch to practice some new moves before team training the following night. She bid her friend farewell as he and Dumbledore left the classroom together, and Hermione took the passage and stairs from the classroom office to Snape's lab.

The lab was empty when she arrived, though, as was the sitting room. She peered around the bedroom door, still ajar as she had left it, only to find Snape still asleep, hardly having moved from where she'd left him some five hours earlier.

Even in his sleep, he still looked drawn and tired. Worried, she called his name quietly, and then more loudly when he didn't rouse the first time. She walked to the window, pushing the curtains open in the hope the extra light would wake him.

He slumbered on until, just as she crossed the room and was about to reach out to him, he uttered a low groan and rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes to block out the sudden, unwelcome light.

Her eyes fell inadvertently to his bare chest, pale as always, the outline of his ribs visible on his lean frame. He had yet to regain all the weight he'd lost during the week following his discovery by Voldemort, weight he couldn't really afford to have lost in the first place.

After a moment he dropped his arm, catching her stare before his eyes trailed over her robes with a frown of confusion.

"What time is it?" His voice was still scratchy from sleep.

"Lunchtime," she replied.

He muttered a string of expletives under his breath, and she stepped back as he got up. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his trousers last night and she noticed his shirt, flung over the nearby chair, was still half-buttoned.

Snape went into the bathroom without another word, and she heard the splash of water in the basin as he attempted to wake himself up. Coming back into the bedroom a moment later, he picked up the discarded shirt and attempted to put it on, discovering it was still buttoned after two frustrating attempts which resulted in another string of expletives. He threw it aside and turned to retrieve a fresh one from the armoire in the corner.

Finally managing to button that one successfully, his eyes fell on the phials on the nightstand. He walked over and picked them up, then looked at her questioningly.

"I thought you might need one of them," she said, "but I wasn't sure which."

"All of them would be preferable," he said, unstoppering the headache potion first and downing it quickly. "However, Pepper-Up and Invigoration Draught do not mix well, so I think I'll settle for this one."

He unstoppered the Invigoration Draught and swallowed that, too, then left the bedroom with the other phial in hand.

"If this potion works, you're not going to be able to brew it every month," she stated as she trailed after him into the lab. "You're a wreck."

He replaced the Pepper-Up phial in the cabinet and withdrew a second dose of the headache potion, drinking it quickly and setting the empty phial on the bench.

She frowned.

"You can't do that every time you make it, either."

"I'll do what is necessary," he said shortly.

She didn't say anything, and he turned back to her, sighing when he saw the disapproving expression on her face.

"It's once a month, Hermione," he reasoned. "A small price to pay for what it may achieve. Besides, when I'm sure that it _does_ work, I may be able to enlist some help to make it."

"Me?" she asked hopefully, and he fixed her with a withering look.

"If you can think of anyone else who might be interested, has the skills required and knows of my continued existence, by all means, let me know."

"Point taken." She rolled her eyes, but then moved over to stand beside him when he went to the cauldron of the new Wolfsbane.

It was a revolting greenish-grey colour, and the mixture wasn't smooth, as Hermione had expected, but thick and lumpy. She looked to Snape in dismay, thinking something had gone wrong after he'd left it to cool in the early hours of the morning, but he looked satisfied.

"Is that how it's supposed to look?" she asked in disbelief.

"It is." He picked up a glass stirring rod from the bench, cast a cleansing charm to rid it of any dust, and then stirred the gelatinous mixture a few times. "Not the most inviting concoction, I must admit, but I doubt Lupin will have cause to complain if it works. Despite it's consistency, I think it may actually taste better than the original Wolfsbane."

Hermione nodded, very glad she didn't have to drink it. The taste might be agreeable, but those lumps were quite repulsive, as far as she was concerned. Still, as Snape had said, the taste was a minor issue; none of the intended recipients of the potion would begrudge that if it worked.

She informed Snape that Lupin and Headmaster would be arriving later, and then set about brewing potions from the latest list Madam Pomfrey had given her. They were simple and required very little of her concentration, so she quizzed Snape on the brewing process of the Wolfsbane.

He sat at the bench near the cauldron, making notes and explaining a lot of the process to her as he did so. Twice during the afternoon, he went to the cupboard at the side of the room for more headache potion and Invigoration Draught. If he noticed her watching him disapprovingly – and he wasn't one to miss even the slyest of glances – he ignored her. After some time, he retreated to the other room to work at his desk while she continued with her potions.

Some time shortly before five, Hermione's stomach rumbled loudly and she glanced at the clock, realising she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

She cleared away the last of the unused ingredients and went into the sitting room. Snape was sitting at his desk, parchments of notes and formulas set out before him. He had his eyes closed, quill in one hand, and was pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

"Headache?" she asked quietly, taking the chair opposite him. He looked up and nodded, tossing his quill aside in defeat.

"I suppose you've warded the leftover phials against me?" he joked tiredly.

"No." She smiled. "But I still don't think it's a good idea to keep taking it. Sleep would be better. Or food. Have you eaten anything today?"

He shook his head.

"No wonder you still have a headache," she chided. "I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, either. What do you feel like?"

She crossed to the mantelpiece, picking up the parchment and quill that lay there. Since Snape's supposed death at the hands of Voldemort, the Headmaster had given him the enchanted parchment with which to obtain meals. Whatever was written it transferred itself to another parchment in the kitchen and, a short time later, the requested food appeared on the coffee table courtesy of the house-elves.

It was an ingenious idea, but Hermione found herself using it more than Snape. He tended to forget everything else when he was emersed in researching or brewing, including food, and she'd taken to organising it for him whenever she was there.

When he didn't respond immediately, though, she turned back to find him watching her with a bemused expression on his face.

"What?"

"Just marvelling at you making yourself at home, organising dinner for me," he said, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. "

"Well," she said loftily, "someone had to look after you if you won't take care of yourself."

Snape chuckled and stood up, coming to stand before her. She placed her hands on her hips and stared up at him questioningly, annoyed that he was laughing at her concern. He sobered quickly, though, a pensive look on his face, and then surprised her by pulling her into his arms and dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"I wasn't laughing at you, Hermione," he said gently. "It's rather a novelty that anyone is concerned enough to notice whether or not I've eaten."

She snaked her arms around his back, parchment still in one hand, and rested her head on his chest.

"Of course I notice," she murmured. "I worry."

He chuckled softly again, but also tightened his hold on her almost imperceptibly. "It's not worth worrying about. Besides, when I end up with food like that _stuff_ you took the liberty of ordering last time, is it any wonder I don't eat?"

She couldn't help but let out a giggle, then.

A few days prior, he'd waved off her enquiry of what to order, telling her to arrange whatever she felt like while he finished up in the lab. On impulse, she'd written _Muggle fish and chips x 2_ on the parchment and, to her delight, the food had appeared almost immediately. The house-elves had outdone themselves, considering she'd never seen fish and chips in the magical world. It was wrapped in paper as though it had come straight from the shop her parents used to take her to as a child for a very occasional takeaway meal.

She'd ordered it just to see his reaction, really, although he could use a little extra weight on his lean frame. When he'd come out of the lab to find her sitting on the floor, legs stretched out under the coffee table with the fish and chips spread out on the tabletop, she had laughed at his shocked expression, which had only irritated him further.

"It's fish and chips – standard Muggle fare," she said, pushing the open paper in his direction as he sat on the couch. "Try it."

He had refused flatly and only glowered at her when she tried to convince him. Muttering under his breath, he'd gone to the parchment and requested steamed fish and vegetables, instead.

"Much more civilised," he had commented when his meal appeared on a plate.

She had rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the half-stunned, half-revolted expression on his face as she helped herself to his portion of the fish and chips after finishing her own.

"No need to waste perfectly good food," she had remarked.

She wondered what he would do if she requested another Muggle favourite tonight?

"It wasn't bad," she said. "If you'd just have tried it-"

"It was revolting and greasy," he countered, "and I cannot believe you ate yours _and_ mine."

"What's wrong with greasy?" she said pointedly, smiling as she snaked the hand not holding the parchment up into his hair. She was only teasing, and so she almost shrieked in surprise when he suddenly grabbed the wrist of the hand in his hair and bent so his face was level with hers, their foreheads almost touching. She could see nothing but the depths of his black eyes, narrowed in mock aggravation.

"My hair is nowhere near as greasy as that poor excuse for food," he growled.

She would have laughed, but his closeness was intoxicating and she found herself slightly breathless. He raised one eyebrow as if waiting for her response, and the only thing she could think of doing was to tilt her head up and kiss him. He murmured an incoherent but appreciative sound against her mouth, and she dared to capture his bottom lip in between her teeth, biting down lightly for just a moment. The parchment and quill fell from her hand a moment later as she released his lip and he deepened the kiss; she grasped his shoulders and fisted her fingers in the back of his shirt as the room spun headily about her.

Everything narrowed to the feel of his lips on hers, the slight chafing of his unshaven chin against her jaw, and his hands, one tangled in her hair, the other at the small of her back, holding her firmly against him.

Suddenly, she felt something solid behind her and, startled, discovered he had backed her against the bare wall beside the mantle. She hadn't realised they had moved at all, but she let the cool stone take some of her weight from her shaky legs.

He leant into her, propping her between the wall and his body, and she marvelled at the contrast between the cold wall behind her and his hard, warm body in front.

"What about dinner?" she tried to protest, albeit half-heartedly.

He drew back from her, blowing softly on her neck where his lips had been only moments before. She shivered involuntarily, and his mouth brushed the edge of her ear as he murmured, "I thought this was the entrée?"

Her breath hitched in her throat at his insinuation, and she felt as well as heard him chuckle before he renewed his assault on her lips.

Hermione had no idea how long they stood like that; the heat of his mouth and the soft caress of his tongue against hers made her forget all else. His hands were constantly moving; one had somehow found its way under the untucked hem of her blouse, and was softly stroking the smooth skin of her lower back. The other hand was in her hair, tangled amongst the curls as he held her head at just the right angle that they didn't bump noses.

Her own hands were wandering aimlessly up and down his back, and she was fervently wishing he wasn't so proper as to have tucked his shirt in neatly when he had dressed earlier in the day.

Frustrated, she set about trying to pull the bottom of the shirt from his pants, but he nudged her arms away with his elbows, releasing her lips as he made for that spot on her neck again. The skin just below her ear was her undoing, and she knew that _he_ knew it. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes drifting shut only to snap open again.

A sudden hint of green had caught the edge of her vision, and the haze of lust abruptly disappeared as she realised what it was.

"The Floo!" she gasped, pushing Snape away from her suddenly.

No sooner had she said it than the fireplace flared a brighter green, and the whooshing noise signalling someone's arrival began.

"_Shit_," Snape cursed, spinning from her and disappearing through the lab door beside which they had been standing.

Mortified at the thought of being discovered in the midst of such actions, Hermione pushed herself away from the wall on shaky legs. She pulled her open robe more tightly around her, grateful for the garment to hide her blouse's state of disarray.

She bent to pick up the abandoned parchment and quill on the floor, and when she turned back to the fireplace Professor Lupin was emerging, dusting off his robes as he stepped from the hearth.

"Ah, Hermione!" he said cheerily. "I thought we might find you already here."

Hermione nodded, willing the flush from her face, and glanced towards the open lab door. She could hear Snape moving about in the room, and hoped he would have the sense to compose himself better than she before he emerged.

"Are you quite all right?" Lupin asked, eyeing Hermione curiously.

"Fine," she said hurriedly, biting her lower lip to try to conceal its swollen appearance. If the Defence teacher looked closely enough, there would be little doubt as to what his arrival had interrupted.

Thankfully, at that moment the Floo flared again, announcing Dumbledore's arrival, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," the Headmaster greeted.

"Hello, sir," she replied. Realising the magic parchment was still clutched in her hand, she held it up, adding, "Severus is just seeing to the potion, but I thought something to eat would be nice."

"An excellent idea," the Headmaster agreed, taking a seat in one of the armchairs and gesturing the Defence teacher into the other one. "Perhaps tea and sandwiches are in order? Most potions are less agreeable on an empty stomach, wouldn't you agree, Remus?"

"Certainly," Lupin said, although Hermione could still feel his eyes on her as she wrote their request on the parchment and replaced it on the mantle.

A moment later, the food appeared on the coffee table and Hermione offered to pour both professors a cup of tea. The Headmaster accepted with a nod, but Lupin shook his head.

"I'm not sure I will be able to join you, though," he said, a wry smile on his face. "The original Wolfsbane is most effective on an empty stomach, although I dare hope this may be different. It is most trying having to forgo the sumptuous food here a week out of every month."

"You find yourself in luck, Lupin," Snape announced, appearing from the lab just as Hermione sat at one end of the couch with her own cup of tea. He carried a steaming goblet, which he set down on the table in front of the Defence teacher. "This brew should also work most effectively on an empty stomach, however you will only have to miss one meal a month."

"It sounds promising," Dumbledore said, leaning forwards to pluck a sandwich from the tray in the centre of the table. Snape stepped past Hermione to sit at the other end of the couch, his gaze meeting hers for just a moment. His face was carefully impassive, and she noticed his shirt was again impeccably tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

"It doesn't appear to have improved in taste," Lupin commented, picking up the goblet when Dumbledore sat back, sniffing its contents and wrinkling his nose before replacing it on the table. Indeed, even Hermione could detect its foul odour from where she sat.

"I hardly think that should be a concern," Snape said stiffly, folding his arms across his chest and refusing Hermione's offer of a sandwich. "Besides, I'm still not entirely convinced this is a good idea."

"Severus, someone has to try it," the Defence teacher reasoned, "and I don't see where you're going to find another willing werewolf, especially one so amiable as myself."

"This isn't a joke, Lupin," Snape hissed. "It would do you well to consider the implications your death might have on others."

"I know it isn't a joke, Severus," Lupin said placidly. "Honestly, I am well aware of the risks and prepared to take them."

Snape frowned, and Hermione wondered at his reluctance; he had seemed so confident last night, unless she'd mistaken his relief at completing the potion for faith in its effectiveness.

"Even if it works," he added, "there's no certainty the potion will guarantee their loyalty."

"No, there isn't," Dumbledore agreed, leaning back in his armchair, his hands steepled under his chin. "But we must try, and sooner we are able to offer it to them, the more chance we will have of winning their trust."

"Even if the werewolves don't side with us in the end," Hermione spoke up, trying to allay his concerns, "the potion will still help to control their transformations. Wouldn't it be better to fight men than wolves?"

"The potion doesn't prevent transformation," Snape reminded her.

"No," she countered, "but, like the original Wolfsbane, it should allow the werewolf to keep his own mind when he transforms. We'd be fighting wolves, yes, but with the minds of men; wolves with a conscience, many of whom abhor killing for the sake of doing so."

"Quite true," Lupin said, and the Headmaster murmured in agreement. She looked to Snape, finding him frowning at her apparent lack of concern. Hermione gave him a small shrug of her shoulders. She understood his concerns, and knew he would place the blame on himself if something went wrong, but there was no reason left to stall; the potion was as near-perfect as theoretically possible, the Headmaster approved, and the test subject was in agreement despite the risks.

After a moment, Snape sighed in resignation. "Very well, then," he muttered, waving his hand at the goblet on the table, smoke still rising from the surface of the murky brew.

Lupin picked the goblet up, glancing at the Headmaster briefly. When the old man nodded, the Defence teacher raised it to his lips and, without further ado, downed the contents in four swift swallows.

Hermione saw the Headmaster lean forwards, watching the other man for any sign of adverse effects. She hardly realised that she, too, was sitting on the edge her seat. Glancing at Snape, she saw his eyes were fixed, unblinking on Lupin.

The Defence teacher finished draining the goblet and set it back on the coffee table with a clunk, grimacing as he said, "Severus, I am convinced you could not possibly have made that taste any worse. It was positively foul!"

"Never mind that taste," Snape snapped. "How do you feel? Nauseous? Dizzy?"

"Perfectly all right, actually," Lupin said, looking slightly surprised as he spoke.

"It works, then?" Hermione asked, looking from Lupin to Snape, and then to the Headmaster.

"It hasn't poisoned him," Snape corrected. "Whether it _works_ or not remains to be seen on the night of the full moon."

Hermione noticed Lupin was looking slightly uncomfortable now, and Dumbledore, following her gaze, saw the expression on the teacher's face, too.

"Remus?" the Headmaster said questioningly.

"If there is chance it won't work," he said slowly, "I should like to be somewhere more secure than my own quarters. I wouldn't want to put anyone at risk."

Snape nodded approvingly at the other man's foresight.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," the Headmaster said, then folded his hands in his lap and regarded Snape over the top of his glasses. "Until then, there is another matter I think you should be made aware of, Severus."

Snape looking at the older man suspiciously, Hermione and Lupin watching interestedly, and at length the Headmaster said, "Mr Malfoy has been granted leave to return home this weekend."

Hermione shrank back involuntarily as Snape stood up, his eyes flashing. "You _approved_ this?"

"I saw no legitimate reason to refuse," Dumbledore said calmly. "The request was made by his father on his behalf, citing personal reasons."

"_Personal reasons_?" Snape echoed incredulously.

Hermione was agape at the Headmaster's stupidity, and even Lupin seemed confused. Snape began pacing back and forth in front of the bookshelves, anger written in every line of his body.

"Albus," he said, spinning back to face the other occupants of the room, his voice tight with rage, "the boy is one of only two known Death Eaters' children who are of age and still at this school. After the failed mission of his classmates, Draco's father will be eager for him to prove his worthiness to the Dark Lord. You _know_ what will be required of him."

_The Mark_, Hermione thought, feeling sickened. As the weeks had passed, she was more certain than ever that the young Slytherin was trying to avoid joining his father in Voldemort's ranks. It seemed that choice had been taken from him now, though, through the thoughtless actions of the Headmaster.

Then it occurred to Hermione that perhaps Dumbledore wanted it to happen this way. She quickly pushed that disturbing thought aside. Surely the Headmaster would do all in his power to prevent another confused, angry young man from making the biggest mistake of his life?

She realised he was speaking again, and turned back to the conversation.

"-do not believe Tom will send a young man back into this school bearing his Mark." Dumbledore was trying to reason with Snape, who had resumed pacing along the side of the room. "Messrs Crabbe and Goyle bore no such Mark, though they were bound to carry out his orders. If we can win young Mr Malfoy's trust when he returns, possibly charged with a mission from Tom himself, we can protect him and gain valuable information."

"You may have forfeited his trust already," Snape said. "Your inability to act on the offensive has cost you before, yet still you play directly into the Dark Lords hands."

Hermione was startled at the tone with which Snape was speaking to the older man, although she understood his anger. Lupin looked vaguely uncomfortable just witnessing the argument.

The Headmaster was frowning at Snape, who has ceased his pacing at the far end of the bookshelves. His back was turned, and he was staring moodily at the row of dusty tomes.

"I have done what I deemed to be necessary and in the best interests of all concerned," Dumbledore said firmly. "I could not find a plausible excuse to keep Mr Malfoy on the school grounds, so I had no choice but to agree to the request."

Snape didn't answer, and Dumbledore shook his head resignedly. He bid Hermione goodnight and then looked to Lupin, who indicated he wished to remain for a moment. The Headmaster departed alone, and the Defence teacher stood, moving towards the window in pretence of admiring the twilight view.

"I don't know what he's playing at," he commented after a few minutes of silence. Hermione, still seated on the couch, turned to look at her teacher in surprise.

"I thought you'd be all for his grand plans," Snape sneered, turning to regard the other man, his arms folded across his chest.

"Hardly," Lupin said easily. "Not such a misguided plan, at any rate. What does he hope to attain, confirmation of the boy's loyalties? Wouldn't it have been simpler just to ask?"

"That's too simple," Hermione said. "Then again, it's so simple it might have worked… I suppose it's too late now."

"Indeed." Snape grimaced. "I think Albus is hoping to use Draco as his eyes into the Death Eaters' ranks, as he used me."

"A replacement spy?" Lupin looked surprised. "That would make sense, strategically, but he is little more than a boy, and surely not skilful enough to conceal his duplicity from Voldemort."

"Very good, Lupin," Snape said, though his tone was more resigned than mocking. "It is a pity Albus doesn't share your concerns."

"I suppose..." Lupin trailed off thoughtfully, taking a moment before continuing, "I could try to speak with young Mr Malfoy. He is in my class on Thursday afternoon. It couldn't hurt to extend an ear, could it?"

"It's worth a try," Hermione said, but Snape snorted derisively. Apparently done with polite conversation, he picked up the empty goblet from the table and strode into the lab with it.

"You're welcome to try, Lupin," he said, reappearing in the doorway, "but there is little chance of Draco trusting the likes of you."

Hermione stared at Snape, taken aback by the harshness of his pointed remark. Lupin paled, but then he simply nodded and looked away, resigned to accept the slight.

Hermione looked between the two men in the awkward silence that followed.

Finally, Lupin cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I should be go-"

A sound at the window startled them, and Hermione turned to see Snape's owl, beating her wings against the glass outside and squawking madly.

"What on earth-" Lupin began, as Snape cursed and crossed the room from where he stood at the lab door.

"Bloody bird; she _knows_ she can't be here." He rapped the window sharply with his knuckles. "Go on, away with you!"

Tonatiuh took no notice of Snape, and continued to squawk, pecking the glass with her beak.

"Someone might see her," Hermione said nervously, coming to stand next to Snape and glancing nervously at the school grounds below. It was almost dark, but there were some students milling about across near the edge of the lake. "Can you let her in?"

Snape tapped the left-most panel of glass with his wand, and it melted away, a sudden cool breeze wafting into the room. The owl wasted no time in shooting through the opening, and it closed behind her as she dropped what she had been carrying on the floor and began flying circles around the room, swooping dangerously close to Snape's desk, the sudden wind stirring the parchments from their neat pile.

"Careful!" Snape bellowed, grabbing one as it fluttered off the edge of the surface. "Calm down, bird! What on earth is wrong with you?"

Confused, Hermione looked down at the lump the owl had been carrying in its claws. It was a limp, bloody, very dead rat. Revolted, she poked it with the toe of her shoe, turning it over.

Her blood froze as she found herself staring at a tiny, silver paw.

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**To be continued**

_Author's Notes:_

_Many thanks to Potion Mistress for beta-reading this chapter, for her ideas on the werewolf transformation, and for helping me to avoid (some) horribly clichéd phrases._

_Thanks also to Keladry Lupin, with whom I discussed Pettigrew's capture some months ago. Tonatiuh didn't devour the rat immediately because, a) she sensed there was something strange about him, and b) in Keladry's words, she decided 'that he tastes okay, but really needs salt'. Hehe._

_If anyone is curious, the book Hermione reads in this chapter is __Heart of Darkness_ by Joseph Conrad. It's a dark book that, amongst other things, explores the concept of those in power exploiting people who are seen as 'inferior'. I think it's somewhat fitting, given the current plight of the wizarding world.

_I've done it again, haven't I? I promised Draco's motives would be revealed the chapter. Oops. Well, if you're really curious, the next chapter over on OWL does reveal his motives – I mean it this time._

_Lastly, at the request of Keladry Lupin, the wonderful and talented Undun has drawn a beautiful picture of the Canary Cream incident from Chapter 11 (Progress). You can find it at the end of that chapter on the OWL site. Thanks Undun and Keladry!_


	34. Discovery

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter 34**

"Professor Lupin," Hermione managed to croak. Snape was halfway across the room, still trying to pacify the owl. The Defence teacher turned from watching Snape to look at her and, seeing the look of horror on her face, stepped around the desk and followed her gaze to the rat.

His face blanched, and he staggered forwards a few steps, grasping the back of the nearest armchair for support.

"Severus!"

Tonatiuh, realising the other occupants of the room had discovered the problem even if her master hadn't, suddenly quieted, landing on Snape's outstretched forearm without a sound.

Snape shook his head in disbelief and walked over to her perch which still sat in the corner of the room, coaxing her from his arm onto the wooden rung impatiently.

"I don't know what's wrong with that-" he started to say, breaking off when he finally turned and looked at Hermione.

"What is it?"

He looked at Lupin and then followed both their gazes to the floor.

She finally found her voice enough to whisper, "It's Pettigrew."

Once comprehension dawned, Snape acted faster than either of them. He whipped out his wand, aiming it steadily at the rat even from across the other side of the room.

"Lupin, get your wand out," he commanded, moving closer. "Hermione, step back."

"But-"

"Don't argue. Just do as I say, for once," he snapped.

She backed a short distance across the room, standing so she could still see what was happening. Lupin hadn't moved; he was staring at the rat with a pale, shocked expression on his face.

"Lupin!" Snape snapped again. "Get your wand out! He might not be dead."

As if shaking himself from a trance, the Defence teacher finally managed to comply, his wand trembling slightly in his grasp. Hermione noticed his nostrils were flaring and he was breathing quickly through his nose; his shocked expression seemed to transform suddenly, and there was an odd glint in his eyes, of anticipation and triumph. It was unnerving to see such an expression on the normally placid man.

She turned back to Snape, who was approaching the motionless rat slowly, his wand still trained steadily on its small form. He cast a spell Hermione didn't recognise, and the rat glowed for a moment.

"Dead?" Lupin questioned hoarsely, but Snape shook his head uncertainly. He cast another spell, its syllables slightly different from the first, but with the same result.

"It could be a trick," he said, eyeing the rat keenly. "When an Animagus remains in their animal form for prolonged periods of time, it alters their anatomy. They no longer respond correctly to spells designed for humans, but nor are they really an animal."

"There's only one way to find out," Lupin said. "Force him to resume his true shape. Shall we?"

Snape looked over at him for a moment, nodded, and then turned to Hermione.

"Take your wand out and keep back," he instructed.

There was no room for argument in his tone, so she did as she was told, the length of wood shaking slightly in her hand until she tightened her grip determinedly.

At a sharp nod from Snape, the two wizards raised their wands in a mirror movement. No words were spoken, but there was a blinding flash of light and an accompanying _bang!_

When Hermione could see again, the rat had vanished. In its place, sprawled out grotesquely on the stone floor, was a very dead Peter Pettigrew. The small but deep claw marks on the rat had expanded on his human form into long, ugly gashes, some of which were still oozing blood. His face was fixed in a horrible, twisted expression of pain, eyes clenched shut in an effort to stave off his unfortunate end.

After a few tense minutes and another series of spells, Snape finally lowered his wand. "He's dead," he confirmed, glancing at Hermione briefly, an unreadable expression on his face, and then to Lupin.

The Defence teacher didn't utter a word, but sank into the nearby armchair, his wand hanging loosely from his fingers as he stared at the body.

Hermione put her own wand away and stepped forwards. The rancid stench of blood, sweat and fear reached her nostrils, and she fought the urge to gag. Snape muttered another spell, passing his wand over the length of Pettigrew's twisted body in a horizontal arc.

Nothing happened until his wand drew level with the breast pocket of the dead man's torn, shabby coat, and then the air around the pocket glowed a dull yellow.

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked.

"It means there is a magical object in his pocket," Snape replied, frowning. "It can't be a wand, not in a pocket that size."

Carefully, using his own wand rather than his hands, Snape nudge the pocket open and managed to prod and poke the item until it fell out, sliding down the sticky mess of blood on the dead man's chest to fall on the floor.

A small, rusty tobacco box.

Hermione stared at the innocuous object, Snape's sharp, "Don't," startling her as she took another step closer.

She looked up at him, but he was glancing around the room, clearly searching for something. His eyes fell on the small pile of serviettes next to the sandwich plate. Taking one, he covered the box and picked it up, placing it on the edge of the table, careful not to touch it directly. Hermione followed him, peering down at it as he removed the cloth again.

He held out a cautionary arm as she leant too close, and she looked at him curiously again.

"If this is what I think it is..." he murmured, casting a spell at the small object. It glowed the same yellow as the pocket, and Snape nodded.

"It's a Portkey," he stated flatly. "I think we can imagine where it might take anyone unfortunate enough to touch it when activated."

Hermione took an involuntary step backwards, then. After her last near-experience with a Portkey at the hands of Voldemort's young servants, she was surprised to find herself not retreating clear across the room.

Snape continued to scrutinise the Portkey, his wand half-raised as though deliberating what to do.

"Shouldn't it be destroyed?" she asked.

Frowning, he eventually shook his head, saying slowly, "No, I... no."

It seemed to Hermione that he'd been about to say something else, but when he didn't go on, she turned back to the other occupant of the room.

Lupin was still sitting in the armchair, staring somewhat vacantly at the body on the floor.

"Professor?"

His eyes flickered in her direction as she stood in front of him, and he seemed to shake himself mentally.

"Hermione." His voice was falsely cheerful as he stood up. "What can I do for you?"

"Er..." she faltered, thrown by his odd tone. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Oh, yes," Lupin said vaguely. "Quite all right."

She turned to Snape in confusion, to see him watching the other man with a frown.

"Hermione," he said after a moment, "will you Floo Albus and ask him to join us?"

With a perplexed backwards glance at the Defence teacher, she went to the fireplace, stepping carefully around one outflung arm of Pettigrew. Taking a pinch of Floo powder and tossing it into the flames, she called out for the Headmaster to join them.

The old wizard stepped through onto the hearth a moment later, brushing off his robes. He started quite violently at the unexpected spectre of the dead man.

"Upon my word!" he exclaimed, looking from Hermione to Snape, still standing by his desk, and Lupin, still looking vaguely stunned. "What is... how is this- who…?"

It was the first time Hermione had ever seen the eloquent Headmaster lost for words.

"It would seem my owl has developed a taste for merely killing rats rather than eating them," Snape spoke up, gesturing to the other corner of the room where Tonatiuh was preening herself on the wooden perch.

"Well, I..." Dumbledore took off his half-moon glasses, absently rubbing them on one billowing sleeve. Putting them back on, he murmured, "This changes things."

Hermione was about to enquire what he meant by that when he spoke again.

"Forgive me, Miss Granger, but I think I might ask you to excuse us while we deal with this matter," the Headmaster said, gesturing to the body on the floor. "It is not something a student should have to witness."

"But, sir, I've already seen-"

"I'm sure you have many questions," Dumbledore continued firmly, "but I would ask that you refrain from asking them at the present time. This matter must be dealt with immediately, and there is much to be done. I'm afraid questions will have to stand unanswered for now."

Hermione could see the Headmaster's point, but was it really necessary for her to leave? She looked at Snape, but he returned her questioning gaze impassively, and that gaze turned to a glare when she realised he wasn't going to protest.

With strict instructions from the Headmaster not to tell anyone what had happened yet, she exited the room, leaving the three men to deal with the dead traitor.

* * *

Five minutes later, she reached the Fat Lady's portrait at the same time as the throng of students returning from dinner in the Great Hall. Harry and Ron caught her eye, and she knew by the look on their faces they could tell something was wrong. She sighed and, when they entered the common room, gestured for them to follow her to her own room.

"I can't tell you anything," she said flatly as soon as she closed the door. "Besides, I'm sure you'll know soon enough."

"Why'd you bring us in here if you're not going to tell us anything?" Ron complained, plonking himself down on the end of her bed.

"Because," she sniped, "I didn't want you badgering me to tell you in front of everyone else. Then they would all want to know."

"Can you tell us anything?" Harry asked, sitting down a bit more carefully next to Ron. "You looked a bit... _disturbed_."

She eyed both of her friends as she pulled the chair out from under her desk, turned it around and sat facing them.

"We made quite a disturbing discovery tonight," she admitted, wondering how much she could let on without directly disobeying the Headmaster. "But, once the initial shock wear off, I think you'll be... relieved."

"Is it something to do with Remus?" Harry asked. Both of her friends knew of Snape's success with the new potion, and that the Defence teacher was to be testing the brew tonight.

"Not directly." At Ron's curious look, she elaborated, "He was there when this whole thing happened."

About a half an hour later, Hermione was developing a headache from all the roundabout talk, in which Harry and Ron were trying to gain as much information as possible without her actually telling them anything.

Thankfully, a sharp rapping at her door distracted the three friends from their discussion. Hermione rose from her seat, but before she reached the door, it opened of its own accord, and McGonagall stepped into the room.

"I thought I may find you all in here," she said briskly. "Mr Potter, if you would come with me, please. The Headmaster wishes to see you."

Harry stood up and moved to the doorway where McGonagall waited. Ron made to follow, but the Head of Gryffindor shook her head.

"Not you, Mr Weasley, nor you, Miss Granger," she said firmly, her eyes travelling from Ron to Hermione.

"But when will I know-" Ron began.

"Can I tell Ron what I know now, Professor?" Hermione interjected. She assumed the Deputy Headmistress was already aware of what had happened, and it didn't seem fair she and Harry knew when Ron was still in the dark; he had just as much right to know what had happened to the man who had masqueraded as his pet for the better part of his life.

McGonagall deliberated the request with a frown, but then nodded.

"Very well, but make sure you are _not overheard_," she cautioned firmly, before leading Harry from the room and closing the door behind her.

Ron blew out a breath as Hermione sat down again.

"It must be serious," he said.

Hermione nodded and proceeded to tell Ron everything that had happened earlier, from the Wolfsbane potion and the appearance of Snape's owl, to the discovery of the dead man and the Portkey in his pocket.

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured when she finished the short tale with her own departure from Snape's quarters. "I bet Crookshanks will be disappointed he couldn't do the honours. He's been wanted to eat Sca- er, Wormtail since third year."

"And with good reason," she retorted, though without a sting in her voice. She knew her friend still felt guilt over having unknowingly sheltered Pettigrew in the past.

"How do you think Harry will take it?" he mused, half to himself.

"Well, if his reaction is anything like Professor Lupin's, I'd say not well. His expression when he realised Pettigrew was dead was..." She shivered involuntarily. That momentary expression of suppressed triumph on the Defence teacher's face had really frightened her, not that she could blame him for feeling it, and so had his later shocked silence.

"I suppose part of Harry will wish he'd been able to kill Wormtail himself," Ron murmured thoughtfully, leaning back on his elbows and staring at the canopy above the bed.

"I think there are lot of people who wish that," she said, standing up to pace the length of the room. Something Dumbledore had said was bothering her, but she couldn't quite work out why.

At length, she said to Ron, "One of the first things the Headmaster said was that this changes things. I wonder what he meant, aside from the obvious?"

Ron frowned in thought and was silent for some time. Always the strategic thinker, he finally said, "Wormtail owes Harry a life debt from third year. Maybe Dumbledore was hoping to use that to our advantage."

"I don't think Harry would have liked that," she commented, ceasing her pacing to sit next to her friend.

They sat in silence for some time, before Ron said, "I know Professor Lupin was shocked, but I'll bet he was pleased, too. Of everyone, he's been hurt the most by Pettigrew, and for the longest."

"Even more than Harry, you think?"

The redhead frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I think so. Harry lost his parents, but he was fortunate in that he didn't know what he had lost at the time... does that make sense?"

She looked at him curiously, and he elaborated.

"Lupin lost two of his best friends the night Pettigrew betrayed them, one to death and one to Azkaban. Three friends, if you count Lily. Not to mention the realisation Sirius thought _he'd_ been the one spying on them. He didn't kill Pettigrew when he had the chance four years ago, either, and the bastard escaped and helped You-Know-Who to rise again. And, because of that, he lost the one friend he'd regained after all those years, this time for good."

Hermione couldn't help but be impressed with Ron's logic. She'd known all along Lupin must hate Pettigrew for what he'd done, but she perhaps hadn't considered how deeply that hatred ran, and how all the losses in the quiet Defence teacher's life led back to the pitiless spy.

Yes, Harry had lost his parents, and it was a terrible tragedy, but he was lucky, in a way, that he'd been too young to recognise the loss for what it was. Lupin had lived with knowing what he had lost for almost half of his life.

Some time later, there was a quiet knock at the door and Harry re-entered the room. Hermione and Ron stood immediately, uncertain what to make of the strange look on their friend's face.

Harry crossed the room and plunked himself down into the desk chair Hermione had earlier occupied.

"One down, one to go," he said, his voice carrying a hard edge.

"Harry?" Hermione said, taking in her friend's expression worriedly. "What do you mean?"

His lip curled into a feral smile, his eyes holding that same glint Lupin's had earlier in the evening as he said, "Pettigrew was half the reason my parents are dead. Now, there's only Voldemort."

Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Ron as they sat down again, too.

"He's definitely dead, then?" Ron asked tentatively. It was a fair question, after all. Pettigrew had fooled wizards far more intelligent than himself before.

"Yes, finally," Harry said, leaning back into the chair and suddenly looking tired rather than angry. Thinking back on how Lupin's demeanour had changed, too, Hermione asked after the Defence teacher.

"He's relieved, if a bit shocked," Harry said. "I wanted to talk to him without Dumbledore there, but they still had some things to discuss when I left. Arrangements, I think."

"Arrangements?" Hermione questioned.

"I'd imagine they'll have to report it to the Ministry," Ron put in, and Harry nodded.

"With Pettigrew's body, they can prove Sirius' innocence." He smiled bitterly. "It's a bit late, but at least that snivelling coward will no longer be recognised as a hero."

"Better late than never, I suppose," Hermione murmured, and Ron nodded in silent agreement.

"Anyway," said Harry, standing up again. "Remus is probably back in his office by now. I need to talk to him; I just thought I'd let you know what's happened."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said. As something of an afterthought, she added, "Are _you_ okay?"

He regarded her for a moment, his green eyes unreadable, before he simply nodded.

"Hermione said something about a Portkey?" Ron asked suddenly.

"Yeah," Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Now that was strange; it wasn't an ordinary Portkey. Dumbledore cast some detection spell on it for Dark magic. He thinks it has a locating spell woven into it, so rather than taking one to a specific location, it _locates_ a specific object or person and takes the holder there."

"To Voldemort," Hermione finished.

He nodded again. "Dumbledore said it was the same spell as on the one Crabbe and Goyle had for you."

Hermione felt her stomach drop.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered.

"What happened to this Portkey?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. She knew the last Portkey had gone to the Ministry for evidence against the two young Slytherins, but this one wouldn't be needed for that purpose. The Mark on Pettigrew's arm was enough.

"Dumbledore put it in a cabinet in his office," Harry said. "It's locked and warded; I doubt Merlin himself could get to it if Dumbledore didn't approve."

Hermione nodded, still feeling slightly sickened.

"Well, I'm going to Remus' office," Harry said, turning for the door. "I'll see you both later."

"Later," Ron echoed, but before Harry opened the door Hermione stopped him again.

"Was Severus in Dumbledore's office, too?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron make a face at her use of his first name, but she ignored him.

"Yeah, he was there for a while," Harry said shortly. "He left us to our – what did he call it? Oh, yeah, _pleasant reminiscing,_ or something like that."

Hermione frowned, then murmured, "I think I might go and see him in a minute."

Ron made another face.

"Don't start, Ron," she warned. "Besides, Severus is as much a part of this as we are; Pettigrew ferreting around the castle is the reason he's confined as he is."

"I suppose you're right," Ron said slowly, and Hermione breathed a quiet sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to defend her actions again. It was becoming tiresome, but Ron finally seemed to be accepting the time she spent with Snape.

Ron followed Harry out into the common room and Hermione closed the door behind them, leaning against its cool surface for a moment to gather her thoughts.

She hadn't planned to linger in Severus' quarters for long after the Wolfsbane experiment tonight; she had another mock exam the next morning, for Arithmancy, and some of the more complex formulas were still confusing her, despite hours of study.

After their earlier interlude, before Lupin and Dumbledore had arrived, she _knew_ she wouldn't be staying; she would never get any work done in the same room as him after that.

Now, though, both Arithmancy and more pleasant ways to pass the time couldn't be further from her mind. Severus might have spoken with his usual sarcasm in the Headmaster's office, from Harry's account, but she knew better than to take that at face value. Hermione was certain Pettigrew's death had rattled him just as much as it had Lupin. Besides, Harry's revelation about the Portkey had disturbed her to the point she didn't fancy spending the evening alone.

Sighing, she gathered her Arithmancy books from her desk. She doubted she would be able to concentrate on her formulas and incantations, but at least she could appear in his quarters with the intention to study.

* * *

Snape glanced up at the fireplace as it flared green again. His frown of annoyance changed to surprise when Hermione appeared. He hadn't expected to see her again tonight, though her presence was most assuredly welcome.

She brushed off her robes with one hand, her other clutching a bundle of parchments and books.

"Uh, hi," she said a little breathlessly, glancing down at the spotless hearth but consciously stepping around the spot where the dead man had lain not two hours before. Snape raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"I, uh- Harry told me you'd left Professor Dumbledore's office. Is it all right if I work in here?"

"Of course." There was an unspoken concern even in such simple words, and he knew the pretence of studying was really just an excuse to join him for a few hours. He'd long since given up trying to brush aside her concern, accepting it for what it was and never mistaking it for pity anymore. It amused him that she still felt obliged to ask whether or not she could stay. These quarters had become hers almost as much as they were his these past months.

He had scolded himself quite severely one night, not so long ago, when he'd caught himself wondering if the rooms might ever officially be 'theirs'. Such hopes were useless, especially in these times, and especially given what he was. Still, a small part of him thought it pleasant to imagine what might be, were circumstances different.

She dropped her books and parchments on the coffee table and sat down on the rug, her back resting against the couch near his feet.

He watched idly as she laid everything out in front of her, carefully uncapped the ink bottle and retrieved a rather battered quill from a pocket.

She had undoubtedly spoken to Potter at length and been informed of everything that had taken place in the Headmaster's office. Snape wondered at her resolve to study, given what had happened, but if the truth were told he was glad for the quiet company.

He turned his eyes back to the large book sitting open across his lap where he sat lengthways on the couch; he hadn't really been reading it before she had arrived, instead staring into space and contemplating the Dark Lord's reaction when he heard of Pettigrew's death. It would not be pleasant, of that much he was certain.

Half an hour or so later, Hermione tossed her quill down on the low coffee table and leant back against the base of the couch with a low growl of frustration.

"Is something the matter?" enquired Snape, glad for the distraction. He had lost count of the number of times he'd read the same line.

"I can't concentrate on this," she complained.

"I'm sure you know it by heart, anyway," he replied, not unkindly.

"That's not the point," she said. "We have a mock exam tomorrow morning in Arithmancy, and if I mess it up I'll only worry even more about the real thing when it comes around. How can you sit there so calmly when all I can think about is that bloody rat?"

He sighed and closed the heavy tome, setting it on the table as Hermione turned to face him, leaning back against the coffee table instead.

"Distractions can prove fatal, in my experience," he said. "That's not to say I haven't been thinking a great deal on the matter. I haven't managed to read all that much, or haven't you noticed I've yet to turn a page?"

She shook her head, smiling wryly. "_I_ was too distracted to notice."

Standing up and stretching, she motioned for him to shift his feet so she could sit lengthways facing him on the couch, leaning against the opposite armrest. She drew her feet up so she could rest her chin on her knees, watching him silently.

"I'm glad he's dead," she said finally.

His gaze snapped back to hers sharply. For all he knew she must have hated Pettigrew as much as he, and as much as Potter, such a harsh pronouncement still sounds strange coming from her.

"I know it's an awful thing to say about anyone," she went on, "but he was an awful person."

"I don't think anyone who has crossed paths with him would disagree with you," Snape said, folding his hands in his lap. "He was never capable of such evil as the Dark Lord, but his malice more than made up for his cowardice. He would sell anything and anyone to secure his own safety."

"Harry's parents," she said with a nod, "Sirius, and you. I wonder how many others are dead or otherwise incapacitated because of him?"

"I'm sure the list doesn't end there," he said quietly.

Hermione didn't reply, and he watched the expression on her face change as she undoubtedly recalled the events of earlier in the evening. He saw her visibly shiver, and was about to speak when she opened her mouth again.

"Did you see Professor Lupin's face when he realised Pettigrew was dead?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "That look in his eyes was frightening."

"Lupin has many more reasons to hate Pettigrew than I do," he said. "From what I know, he was closer to his friends than his family, and Pettigrew is accountable for all their deaths, one way or another. I think the only thing Lupin regrets is that he wasn't able to kill Pettigrew himself."

"I expect he isn't the only one to regret that," she replied. "I'm sure Harry does."

Snape snorted. "Potter, who stopped Lupin and that other mongrel from killing him four years ago?"

"Harry wanted the worst for Pettigrew," Hermione said firmly. "The Dementors were worse than death, according to Sirius, and-"

Snape looked away, scowling, and she broke off, evidently realising her error. Black wasn't the only one to have spent time at the mercy of the Dementors.

"I would imagine," he said at length, "there are many who would have liked to kill him, but fewer with the resolve to carry out the task."

Hermione studied him for a moment, and he realised she probably knew exactly what he was thinking. Her words a moment later confirmed it.

"You could have."

"Yes."

He knew what he was capable of; he had done as many evils in his past as good deeds trying to make up for them. She had seen both sides of who he was, in memory and reality, and he knew she could understand the gravity of his hatred for Pettigrew.

He could feel her eyes still on him, and he turned around to sit properly on the couch, leaning his head back, before he spoke again."

"I don't deny I would have liked to kill him, given the chance, and to cause him pain for all that he has done – to both myself and others," he said carefully, "but I am satisfied that he is dead, by whomever's hand it happened."

"Or claw, as the case may be," Hermione corrected, glancing across to where Tonatiuh sat on her perch, preening her feathers and looking as though she had never left.

He snorted, twisting his head around to follow her gaze to the bird.

"You needn't look so bloody proud of yourself," he said with a growl. "It was only a combination of natural instinct and dumb luck."

The owl ruffled her feathers in annoyance and Hermione laughed.

"I think that owl is anything but dumb," she said. "I'd be willing to bet she knew that wasn't an ordinary rat. Crookshanks knew, back in my third year; if only we hadn't let Pettigrew get away then."

"I try not to think about that," Snape muttered. Being knocked unconscious by three third-year Gryffindors wasn't exactly a highlight of his teaching career.

"I don't think any of us were thinking straight that night," she replied softly.

She was right, too. Why had the three students been out in the grounds so late? Why had Lupin followed them out there on a full moon night? And why had _he_ not gone straight to the Headmaster when he had seen them all on the open Marauder's Map in Lupin's office? He knew the answer to the last question, at least.

A few hours later found them lying side by side, both staring up at the canopy of his bed, lost in their own thoughts. The Invigoration Draught he'd been taking throughout the day had finally worn off, and she had made no comment when he'd been the first to rise from the couch and announce he was retiring to bed.

He heard her departing via the Floo as he undressed, but knew she wouldn't have left for the night so abruptly. She returned a short time later, when he was already in bed, shrugged off her robe and climbed in next to him.

A murmured word extinguished the torches on the wall, the room only lit by a sliver of the new moon shining through the open curtains.

All the enticing ideas for the evening that had occurred to him during their heated encounter earlier that day seemed out of place now. If the lingering stench of blood wasn't enough to turn his stomach, the memories Pettigrew's reappearance had brought with it certainly did. He was trying not to think about the last time he had encountered the snivelling rat in human form.

Clearly, the traitor's death had put just as much of a dampener on her mood as his. Several times, he thought he sensed her shiver, but he wasn't close enough to know for sure, and it wasn't at all cold tonight.

He didn't know how long they had been lying there when she finally turned to him.

"Severus?"

"Hmmm?" he murmured. He didn't move to look at her, but he sensed her open her mouth to speak, close it, and then finally try again.

"Do you think that Portkey was meant for me?"

He did turn to look at her, then, her eyes wide in the darkness and unable to conceal a hint of fear. Snape wondered that she hadn't mentioned it before, and it had crossed his mind that Potter might not have told Hermione everything he had learnt in the Headmaster's office. He should have known better than to think the boy would have kept it from her.

"It's possible," he said at length. He didn't want to frighten her, but there was little point in glossing over the truth.

"Why?" she said, the tremor suddenly audible in her voice. "Why can't they just... leave me alone?"

He shifted nearer to her, then, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close against him. The same thought had occurred to Snape when he had first discovered the Portkey, that Pettigrew's journey there was a last-ditch effort to capture the young witch whom the Dark Lord believed capable of brewing the Cruciatus potion. It was a disturbing thought that Voldemort would risk someone as useful as Pettigrew – yes, he was a snivelling coward, but a useful one – to take her.

"I said it was possible, Hermione," he said, brushing stray bits of her hair away from his face as she rested her head on his shoulder. "The truth is, we have no idea what that Portkey was for, or even if it was meant for someone at Hogwarts. For all we know, Tona could have captured him miles from here."

"Where else would he have been going, if not here?" she murmured.

"Hogsmeade?" Snape suggested, feeling her shake her head against him. He sighed, thinking it may have been better not to be completely honest with her, after all.

"It could have been for anyone in the castle, if this was even its destination," he reasoned, "Potter, Albus, another Order member, perhaps even another student, a follower of his. The point is, whoever it was meant for, it will not be reaching them, and in apprehending it we have hopefully foiled another of the Dark Lords plans."

Hermione was silent, but she seemed to calm slightly in response to his words.

"What would anger Voldemort more?" she asked after a while. "Finding out Pettigrew is dead, or wondering whether he has betrayed him and rejoined our side?"

"Either would infuriate him," Snape replied after a moment, "but I don't think he would believe Pettigrew capable of switching sides again, not after all the people on this side of the war he has wronged. If he disappears, the Dark Lord will most likely assume him to be dead. He will know soon enough, anyway; the Ministry will not be able keep this quiet. The man who received a posthumous Order of Merlin betrayed the Potters to their deaths and then lived as a rat for twelve years before rejoining his master; I'll give it two days before it makes the _Prophet_."

"At least everyone will know what really happened," she murmured sleepily.

_Some of it_, Snape thought, but he said nothing aloud. He doubted whether anyone would ever know all the details, all the horror, of Voldemort's deeds.

With that unpleasant thought, and the exhaustion of the previous twenty-four hours finally catching up with him, he closed his eyes. Drifting into a restless sleep, he dreamt of dead owls oozing blood from deep gashes caused by a vampire rat's silver fangs, and of a werewolf drinking tea in his sitting room while Hermione sat opposite with a small, rusty tobacco box in her hands.

* * *

Easter came and went, and with it, the full moon. Lupin's transformation went exactly as planned, holed up in the Room of Requirement and watched carefully by Dumbledore and Snape via an enchanted two-way mirror. There had been a tense moment, from Snape's account, when the transformation had begun, waiting to see whether the Defence teacher would turn into the harmless wolf they hoped or the lethal monster they feared.

Thankfully, it had been the former. Snape's relief was palpable as he recounted the tale to Hermione the following morning. Lupin had appeared a short time later, looking rested and healthy, to thank Snape. He had accepted the Defence teacher's handshake awkwardly, muttering something about no thanks being necessary.

The Headmaster, too, was overjoyed at the success of the potion, and was planning how to inform other werewolves of it without arousing suspicion of its source. He had also asked Snape to continue his experimentations to lengthen the efficacy of the potion even more.

Malfoy had returned from his weekend at home and, to Hermione's dismay, had taken to ignoring her completely again. Lupin's proposed chat with him before his departure was thwarted when the Slytherin left directly after lunch, missing the final class of the day.

Snape appeared concerned when Hermione told him of the Head Boy's sudden loss of civility, but the Headmaster seemed to think being around the elder Malfoy had simply caused the younger one to temporarily misplace his manners. Dumbledore had spoken to the young Slytherin upon his return, and he was confident Malfoy was no worse for wear after spending the weekend with his father. Hermione disagreed – he seemed too quiet – but she hadn't spoken to him directly, and the Headmaster had, so perhaps she was mistaken.

She brushed her concerns aside, concentrating on more pressing dilemmas. With Dumbledore's request for further Wolfsbane experiments, Snape was busier than ever. Despite all the time Hermione spent with him, doing her own work, brewing and sometimes helping with his research, there was frustratingly little time when they could simply be together without the pressure of work looming over them... and without interruptions.

Dumbledore seemed to make it his mission to intrude upon any quiet evening where something more might have happened between them. He might have been in agreement with the progress of their relationship, but he seemed to appear from the fireplace at the most inopportune times.

When he finally left one night after appearing to check on Snape's progress with the next step in the Wolfsbane variation, Hermione had spent a good five minutes fuming about the old man's intrusion, certain he was appearing so often just to irritate them.

Severus had laughed outright, but she could tell he was becoming annoyed, too. The time when she arrived just after dinner most nights was really the only time either of them could devote to each other. She still had her NEWTs to think of; just because the future was looking slightly grim at the moment wasn't cause to give up on her studies, and though she was well organised for the approaching exams, she couldn't afford to let more than a few days pass without some sort of study.

By the time she had finished her revision for the night and Snape had given up on the organised chaos of notes, formulas, parchments and textbooks on his desk, both of them were too tired to do anything but crawl into bed, if she hadn't already given up and gone back to her own room while he was still working.

From what Snape said, Dumbledore appeared just as often and as randomly on the evenings she wasn't with him, so perhaps it was a coincidence he always seemed to appear when they had managed to find a few moments for more pleasant activities. Headmaster undoubtedly knew she stayed with Snape a few nights a week, though; she suspected McGonagall knew, too.

It was the Head of House's privilege to have unrestricted access to all the student dormitories, including her room, and McGonagall had mentioned looking for her there very late one night the previous week to help her with a younger student. A slightly odd tone to her voice, coupled with the cool way she addressed Snape later that evening, during a brief discussion in his quarters, led her to suspect the strict Transfigurations mistress had deduced what had been happening between them.

Although, _what hadn't happened_ might have been a better turn of phrase.

Snape obviously shared her frustrations, but she wondered if he, too, had taken matters into his own hands... literally, she supposed, where he was concerned. Not for the first time this year, she was rather glad she no longer shared a room with her Gryffindor classmates.

She might have been inexperienced, but her uncertainty and awkwardness had all but vanished in the past weeks, and if an opportunity didn't present itself soon, sans interruption, she fancied she might find herself pinning him to his desk one evening and doing exactly what she wanted, not even caring if the Headmaster Flooed in and decided to watch.

A week and a half after the full moon, though, fate seemed determined to throw yet another interruption their way.

She left the Great Hall early after dinner to visit the library. One of the books she needed for her Charms revision had been at home with her over Christmas and consequently lost.

Leaving the library with a copy tucked under her arm, she stopped at a junction of corridors. She hadn't been planning to visit Severus tonight; she had another mock exam the following morning, covering the first five years worth of Charms classes, and she wasn't as well prepared as she usually was for tests. She'd noticed at dinner, though, that the Headmaster wasn't present, and only then recalled him telling Snape the previous night he would be at number twelve, Grimmauld Place for a few hours around dinnertime.

Hermione licked her lips unconsciously. It was only a _mock_ exam, after all. She laughed softly to herself at the thought of Ron's expression if he ever heard her – the notorious Gryffindor bookworm – saying such a thing.

To the right, the staircase would take her back to her room in Gryffindor Tower, and probably a better mark on her trial exam. To the left, the corridor led across the castle and down a flight of stairs to the first floor and the door beside the statue of Ignatia Wildsmith... and at least an hour, she wagered, safe from unwanted Floo calls.

Would Snape begrudge her intrusion? It was unlikely he would be brewing; he usually did that during the day, or late at night after the chance of interruptions had ceased. At this time of the evening, he was usually working at his desk, surrounded by heavy tomes and a jumble of parchments filled with his illegible scribble. She smiled to herself. Perhaps, even if he wasn't pleased with her unexpected visit, she might be able to change his mind.

Holding that thought, she turned left and headed for the first floor.

Slipping into the hidden corridor, she was half a dozen steps along it when a cool draught made her realise the door hasn't closed properly behind her. In her haste, she had pushed it shut but not bothered to check whether it had caught or not.

Returning to it, she closed it firmly, making sure she heard the latch click into place; those who might have wished her harm in the past were no longer at the school, but if anyone else were to stumble across this passageway, the consequences would be dire.

Entering the sitting room with a touch of her wand, she stood in the doorway for a moment. As expected, Snape was sitting at his desk, quill in hand. He glanced up at her entrance, raising an eyebrow as she stopped in the doorway to stow her wand and catch her breath, one hand still on the doorknob.

"Something urgent?" he asked, his eyes dropping back to the parchments spread out in front of him.

"Professor Dumbledore said he'd be gone for a few hours tonight."

"That's correct," Snape said, frowning in thought before he crossed out something and rewrote it.

"He left just before dinner," she went on, her stomach suddenly fluttering with unbidden nerves. "I know I wasn't going to see you tonight, but I thought an evening without interruptions would be something of a novelty."

His hand stilled, quill poised over the open bottle of ink, as the implication of her words became clear to him. Without looking at her, he slowly and deliberately set the quill in its holder, gathered the parchments into a neat pile and rose from the chair. It was only when he stopped halfway across the room, arms folded across his chest, that he finally looked at her, his eyes reflecting the dancing firelight in the hearth.

"Perhaps you'd better close the door, then," he suggested evenly.

Biting her tongue to stop the grin from breaking out on her face, she turned to comply and bumped into something... something solid, invisible, and standing directly behind her.

Everything happened in an instant.

She jumped back, startled, her fingers catching the invisible folds of the intruder's cloak as she did so. Snape reacted like lightning. At the sight of an exposed black shoe behind her, he whipped out his wand, snapping a summoning spell for the invisible garment even as he drew the length of wood from his sleeve.

The idea was sound, but the cloak that flew into his outstretched hand didn't uncover Harry, as she knew Snape had expected it to.

Pale and shocked, Draco Malfoy was staring at Snape as if he were seeing a ghost.

"You," he finally whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

A quick glance at Snape showed he had gone pale, too. Rarely was the former Head of Slytherin caught off-balance, but now he was staring at Malfoy wordlessly, his dark eyes wide with a mixture of horror and fear.

"You're dead!" Malfoy went on, ignoring Hermione completely and taking a step towards Snape. "He killed you! Father said there was no way you could have survived!"

"Draco, I-" Snape stumbled over his words, holding up one hand as if to fend of a physical attack as the younger man drew closer. Hermione had the presence of mind to finally close the door before she moved further into the room, too, flinching involuntarily as Malfoy turned on her.

"And you," he spat angrily. "I tried to win your trust. I tried to show you that people can change - that _I_ can change – but you just wouldn't see it, would you?"

"I..." she trailed off, throwing Snape a pleading glance for help. His eyes were fixed on the Slytherin, though. "How was I to know you weren't pretending just to get close to me? How was I to know you didn't just want to hurt me like those others you used to call your friends did?"

"So you just assume the worst of me?" Malfoy shouted, and Hermione recoiled.

"Mr Malfoy," Snape said warningly, moving closer to Hermione in case the young Slytherin's anger got the better of him. His wand was still in his hand, but as Malfoy's gaze flickered to it apprehensively, he stowed it up his sleeve again and briefly held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of goodwill.

Malfoy took a deep breath and a step backwards; his face was still flushed with anger but his eyes showed something akin to panic.

"I tried to make you see," he said softly, looking at Hermione until she had to glance away.

"Draco," Snape said carefully, "if you were having doubts about anything, why didn't you go to the Headmaster. You know he would have listened."

"Because of you!" Malfoy exploded, his eyes flashing. "Because I thought the minute I went to Dumbledore, my Head of House would go straight to the Dark Lord with news of my betrayal. I might have been uncertain, but I didn't have a death wish. And all this time-" his voice broke and Hermione saw his eyes bright with tears of rage and frustration "-all this time you could have been helping me, I thought you were one of them... until I found out they'd killed you, and I realised your impartiality was your way of trying to guide me all along. You couldn't make it any more obvious in case _I_ reported _you_ to my father."

Snape nodded as Hermione looked between the two of them. She felt like an intruder witnessing a scene in which she had no part.

"Some guide you turned out to be," Malfoy snorted. "And you, Granger. I thought you of all people would have been smart enough to recognise my reluctance, even if Dumbledore wouldn't give me a chance."

"I couldn't go against Professor Dumbledore's wish-" she started to say, but Snape silenced her with a glare. Malfoy saw it, though, and chuckled bitterly.

"Dumbledore asked you to keep quiet about everything." He inclined his head towards Snape. "I suppose you've known he's been alive all along. This is where you're always disappearing after class, isn't it?"

She looked away without answering and heard him mutter, "I thought as much."

"Draco," Snape said again. If Malfoy felt any relief at all over discovering the older man was still alive, he was hiding it carefully behind a mask of pure loathing as he turned to look at his former Head of House again.

"Whatever path your father has laid out for you," Snape continued when he was sure he had Malfoy's attention, "you still have a choice."

"What choice?" he returned, his voice suddenly shrill as he took a step towards Snape again. "You know my father's beliefs. You _know_ what he's capable of. You know he would just as soon kill his own son rather than lose me to another's cause. The only choice I _had_, the only choice you and your fucking secretive Headmaster gave me, was death or _this_."

He grabbed the cuff of his sleeve and yanked it up hard, buttons flying in every direction as he shoved his upturned forearm at Snape.

Hermione couldn't stifle a gasp, and Snape's exclamation of horror was clearly audible as they stared at the reddened, blistered flesh surrounding the newly branded Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm.

Hermione eventually managed to tear her eyes from the Mark to look up at Malfoy's face, his eyes brimming with tears of pain and betrayal. He was staring fixedly at Snape, waiting for the older man to say something, to do something. No action or words were forthcoming, though. Hermione saw Snape swallow thickly a few times, but each time he made to speak, he closed his mouth again without a word.

_What could he say, anyway?_ she wondered bleakly. _It's a bit late for 'I'm sorry'._

"I did this," Malfoy finally said, his voice quiet but shaking, his eyes not leaving his former teacher's, "because no one trusted me enough to show me another way."

* * *

**To be continued**

_Thank you to all who continue to read and review!_

_This chapter is dedicated to Mushrooms, who is the first person to recognise the significance of the story's title: there is always darkness before the dawn. On a somewhat-related note, has anyone noticed almost everything that happens in this story (good or bad) happens at night? Unplanned, but curious._

_Thank you to Potion Mistress for beta-reading this chapter, and also to indigofeathers (my walking thesaurus) for help with some random words I couldn't get quite right._


	35. Trust and Obligation

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 35**_  
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Without waiting to be told, Hermione turned from the two wizards who were staring at one another, one in anger, the other in undisguisable horror. She took a pinch of Floo powder and stuck her head into the flames, calling out for Professor McGonagall's office.

She was reluctant to even turn away, but the rational side of her brain was somehow still working and she knew the Headmaster had to be told what had happened. Perhaps, if they acted quickly, they could salvage something from the situation and win back the Slytherin's already-shattered trust in them.

Thankfully, the Deputy Headmistress was at her desk when the office spun into view.

"Miss Granger," the older woman said in surprise, "is something the matter?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Professor, but yes."

"What is it, and where are you?" McGonagall questioned, rising from her desk quickly and crossing the room to the fireplace.

"Can you contact Professor Dumbledore," she asked, "and ask him to come back as soon as he can? I know he's out of the school, but this is urgent, Professor."

"Yes, of course I can fetch the Headmaster, Miss Granger, but _where are you_?"

"In Severus' quarters, Professor."

The Head of Gryffindor narrowed her eyes slightly at that, and then queried, "Has something happened to Severus?"

"No," Hermione said quickly. Then, seeing it was the only way her teacher would act quickly, added, "but Draco Malfoy is here with us."

McGonagall visibly jumped at the news, her face paling.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed. "I will fetch the Headmaster right away. Wait with the others until he arrives."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, withdrawing her head from the fireplace and standing up back in the sitting room.

In the time she had been occupied, Snape had sunk into the nearest armchair, but Malfoy was still standing, glaring at his former Head of House.

"Say _something_, for Merlin's sake," he spat at the older man as Hermione stepped towards them. "Don't just fucking sit there like you had no idea this was going to happen. You knew it would come to this; you _knew_ I would have to take the Mark, and you did nothing. _Nothing_."

"Draco, I don't..." Snape began, but broke off helplessly. "What would you have had me do?"

"Anything!" the blonde yelled, his wild-eyed appearance giving away his hysteria. "Anything but just letting it happen."

"If I could have..." Snape started to reply, but again stopped, realising the futility of his words. His eyes, dark and hollow, briefly flickered in Hermione's direction, and she had to suppress the urge to reach out to him in front of Malfoy.

"Professor Dumbledore is on his way," she said softly. Malfoy glanced up at her as though only just recalling her presence.

"What good can that old fool do?" Malfoy muttered bitterly, turning away from both Hermione and his former Head of House. "He has no interest in helping me, either."

"Do you truly believe that, Draco?" Snape enquired softly, his gaze mirroring the torment in the boy's eyes.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," the blonde said, finally sinking down into the chair opposite Snape and bringing one shaking hand to his face.

"What do you want, Draco?" Snape asked. Hermione held her breath as the Slytherin's gaze dropped to the dark miasma coiled in his left forearm. It was a simple question, but the gravity of its meaning, and his response, could have far-reaching consequences for them all.

"I don't... I don't know," he finally said.

"Let me rephrase, then... If the Headmaster had asked you one month ago what you wanted, what would your answer have been?"

"I..." Malfoy faltered again, looking around the room as though something within it held his answer. His gaze settled on his exposed arm again, and he pulled his sleeve back down before finally looking up at Snape. "Anything but this."

"And now?"

"Does it matter?"

Seeming to have recovered somewhat from the initial shock of Malfoy's revelation, Snape set his face in a determined expression and stood, moving forwards until he was standing in front of Malfoy's chair. Leaning down to regard the younger wizard, he braced his hands on the armrests and said firmly, "It does."

When the Head Boy looked away, Snape persisted. Gesturing to the Slytherin's left arm, he continued, "_This_ choice has been taken from you, but that does not mean everything else has been decided."

Malfoy eyed his former Head of House uncertainly, and then his gaze flickered to Hermione, who was watching, feeling like an intruder on a scene in which she had no part.

She nodded encouragingly at him, though, despite having no idea what to say.

A moment later, the fireplace behind her flared green, and while no one came through, the Deputy Headmistress' voice called out, "Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy, Severus, if you could join us in the Headmaster's office, please?"

"We shall be there momentarily, Minerva," Snape replied.

Malfoy moved to stand up, but the older man was still leaning down on his chair, preventing him.

"Draco," Snape said.

"What?" he replied, staring too carefully at his hands, clenched in his lap.

When he realised the boy wasn't going to look at him, Snape sighed and simply said, "I am truly sorry for what has happened."

If Malfoy didn't recognise the gravity of the words, Hermione certainly did. She knew how much Snape regretted ever having joined the Death Eaters himself, and to have someone who had spent six years under his charge be forced to unwillingly follow the same road must have been a terrible blow.

Snape straightened and stepped back, and the Slytherin rose and strode past Hermione to the fireplace, taking a pinch of Floo powder. Before he stepped into the flames, though, he turned back and regarded them both watching him.

"Thanks," he said to Snape, an odd tone in his voice. "I know you mean it... it's just... a bit late for sorry."

He turned and disappeared through to the Headmaster's office, and Hermione turned back to Snape as he closed his eyes and clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides.

"Severus, I-"

"Don't." His face was carefully schooled, but when he opened his eyes she could see the turmoil roiling in their depths.

She made to reach out to him again, but he brushed her off, crossing to the fireplace and holding out the jar of Floo powder to her.

"We better not keep them waiting," he said tightly.

Sighing, she gave him one last sympathetic glance and followed Malfoy. Through the dizzying whoosh of Floo travel, she could have sworn she heard the smash of something breaking.

* * *

A short time later, having explained exactly how Malfoy's discovery of Severus had come to pass, an uncomfortable silence fell upon the Headmaster's office. McGonagall had regretfully excused herself, having detentions to oversee, but Snape, Hermione, Malfoy and the Headmaster remained to attempt to resolve the situation.

The pot of tea on the coffee table was untouched by any of them, and even the bowl of sherbet lemons was forgotten as the Headmaster regarded the Head Boy over the top of his glasses. The old man looked positively haggard tonight, Hermione thought, and it had only been the chair directly behind him that had prevented him from dropping to the floor when Malfoy had revealed his Dark Mark to the aging wizard.

Discomfited by the scrutiny, Malfoy glanced around the room, his gaze meeting Hermione's for a brief moment. She arranged her face into what she hoped was a smile instead of a grimace; he returned the gesture in kind – definitely more of a grimace – and then his eyes moved to the dark-haired man who was pacing a ceaseless track on the stone floor before the fireplace. Hermione watched as Malfoy scowled at the older man; he seemed more hurt than angry that Severus hadn't reached out to him, and Hermione only hoped he would realise why it hadn't been possible. She sensed Malfoy would need all the help he could get now, most especially from the former Death Eater and spy.

"What are we to do now, sir?' Hermione finally asked when the silence became too much to bear.

All eyes turned to Dumbledore, who eyed the young Slytherin for a moment longer before speaking.

"That," he said, "is entirely up to Mr Malfoy."

"Me?" he said uncertainly. Despite his current mistrust of Snape, Hermione noticed that it was to his former Head of House his gaze first travelled, and the older man nodded once.

"What do you want, Mr Malfoy?" The Headmaster's question echoed the one Severus had asked earlier, and this time, though still uncertain and frightened, Malfoy was prepared for it. He looked evenly at the Headmaster, resolve in his eyes.

"I know it's too late to back out of this," he said, raising his left arm slightly as he spoke, "but I can't stand by and watch... and have to _do_... the things he does. I never thought it would be like this… this... it's wrong."

He broke off for a moment to take a deep, shaky breath.

"If I can... can use it somehow to help... to _stop_ the things he does, to stop _him_... let me do it."

His words hung in the air, and Hermione noticed Dumbledore had a glint in his eyes, sad though they still were.

"You realise what you would be committing yourself to, Mr Malfoy? You are prepared to go against even your own family?"

Malfoy paled slightly, but then his grey eyes hardened and he said firmly, "Yes."

Snape made an inarticulate noise, and the Headmaster glanced in his direction.

"Something to add, Severus?"

He shook his head, an expression of disgust on his face as he said, "I know where this is leading, and I cannot believe you would ask this of another, Albus."

"What would you have me do, Severus?" Dumbledore asked sharply. "Confine him to castle? His father would find a way to reach him, and that would be the end of it."

"And if you send him out there unprepared, he will be killed," Snape returned just as sharply. "Do you want that on your conscience, Albus, or has that conveniently deserted you again?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, though, Snape's shoulders dropped and he turned back to the fireplace, bracing his arms on the mantle.

"Forgive me, Albus," he said in a low voice. "That was uncalled for."

"On the contrary, my boy," the Headmaster replied softly. "I am quite deserving of it, and I understand how difficult this is for you."

"For _him_?" Malfoy cut in. "It's got nothing to do with him."

"Draco-" Dumbledore began, only to be cut off again.

"No, I'm sorry, sir. He's not my Head of House anymore, and he lost any respect I had for him when he ignored what he _knew_ would happen – what _has_ happened."

"Seven years," Malfoy went on, keeping his gaze carefully fixed on Dumbledore. "Seven years and he didn't know me well enough to trust me, well enough to take a chance."

Out the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Snape move from the fireplace to the window, putting more distance between himself and the other occupants of the room. His arms folded over his chest, his posture stiff, as he gazed wordlessly out across the dark landscape.

"Severus is under his own obligation to me," the Headmaster explained. "He could not have reached out to you, even though more than once he expressed concerns over what would transpose if we did not. If anyone deserves your blame, it is I."

"It's true, Draco," Hermione said softly, hoping her use of his first name would emphasise her sincerity.

He watched her for a moment, then turned his gaze to Snape, mistrust clear in his eyes.

"Do what you will, Draco," Snape said, sparing the room a glance over his shoulder as he sensed the boy's eyes on him, "but do not take what he asks of you lightly."

"What exactly are you asking of me?" Malfoy asked, looking back at the Headmaster.

"The same thing I asked of Severus when he was in a position similar to yours," the Headmaster said. His voice was soft, but there was an undertone of finality that made Hermione shiver. "I ask a vow of your loyalty – the Unbreakable Vow."

Malfoy inhaled sharply, obviously familiar with the ancient, binding magic.

"I am sorry, my boy, but it is only with that Vow I can allow you to leave this room."

_Alive_, seemed to echo unspoken around the room, and for the first time Hermione saw in Dumbledore the wizard whom Voldemort feared; kind and caring to most, the aging Headmaster could be decisive and brutal when lives were at stake.

"Will you make the Unbreakable Vow, Draco?" Dumbledore asked.

Hermione saw Malfoy swallow convulsively, but then he nodded and found his voice long enough to utter, "I will."

At that, Snape turned, his eyes holding an uncharacteristic pleading look as he appealed to the Headmaster. "Albus, please. You don't know what you ask of him."

The Headmaster merely shook his head at Snape as much as to say, _I have no choice_, but Malfoy stood up and rounded on Snape.

"Stop trying to look out for me!" he exclaimed angrily. "It's too late for that. You should have realised before that I'm not my father!"

"Your father," Snape said, advancing on Malfoy, "would sooner kill you than have you turn against him like this."

"And I would sooner kill _him_ than become him!"

Snape stared wordlessly at the younger man, and then shook his head, turning back to the window.

"You say that like you know what it means to take a life," he said, his voice filled with a bleakness Hermione hadn't heard since the Muggle school attacks he had been unable to stop.

Malfoy had the grace to appear mollified, but the Headmaster rose from his chair.

"Please, Mr Malfoy, do not hold Severus to blame for my actions," the old wizard said. Eyeing the dark-haired wizard by the window, he added sadly, "He will take care of that himself."

A snort came from Snape's direction, but the Dumbledore turned to regard Malfoy again.

"You understand that this is the only way?" the Headmaster asked, pinning the boy with a sharp stare.

Malfoy looked apprehensive, but he nodded.

"Good," Dumbledore murmured quietly. "Then let us proceed. Severus, I understand your reservations, but perhaps you might consent to be our Bonder?"

Snape scowled darkly, but before he could respond, Malfoy cut in, "No."

Hermione looked at Malfoy in confusion, and Dumbledore sighed.

"Mr Malfoy," he began wearily.

"Not him," Malfoy said firmly. "I want Hermione to do it."

The shock of hearing him speak her name for the first time was eclipsed by the realisation of what he was asking her to do.

"Me? I don't know what to do!" she exclaimed.

"Don't tell me you haven't seen a Bonding before?" Snape asked snidely, though he knew damn well she had seen one – or, at least, the memory of one. His words seemed biting, but after spending so much time with him she could hear the hurt in his tone. Whether or not he agreed with the Vow, such a blatant show of distrust from Malfoy, a student of his own House, must be difficult for him to take.

She opened her mouth to retort, but the Headmaster spoke up, instead.

"Are you sure, Mr Malfoy?"

Momentarily uncertain, the Slytherin glanced around at his former Head of House. As if feeling the young man's gaze on him again, Snape said, "Make your decision, Mr Malfoy. I care not whom you use to Bind yourself to him as I did. Suffice to say I do not agree."

"Your reluctance is noted, Severus, but you know I have little choice."

"There is always a choice," he spat, spinning around to face the older man. "Trust and faith have as much weight as any magical bonding, if you would but give someone a chance."

The Headmaster held Snape's gaze for a long moment, his own eyes sad and remorseful. It was not lost on Hermione that Snape was no longer referring only to the Head Boy's circumstances. Just as the Vow was now necessary for Draco, so had it been, in the beginning, for Severus. But he had been serving Dumbledore for close to twenty years now; surely the Headmaster didn't doubt him after all this time?

"I'm sorry, Severus. In the current circumstances with Mr Malfoy, I simply cannot take the risk," Dumbledore said. The old wizard's eyes were bright, and for a moment Hermione thought he was going to say something else.

"Do not ask me to be a part of it, then," Snape said, turning away and crossing back to the window. "I will not."

"Mr Malfoy," the Headmaster said, finally pulling his gaze from his wayward charge, "are you satisfied with Hermione being our Bonder?"

Though the young Slytherin had all but demanded Hermione play the part earlier, he was now looking at his former Head of House uncertainly. Realising, perhaps, the mistake he had made in earlier accusing Snape of not wanting to help him, he said quietly, "If no one else is willing..."

"I am not." Snape didn't turn from the window as he spoke, and Malfoy looked away, and then to Hermione.

"Are you?"

She felt like she was betraying Severus by even considering Malfoy's request, but Dumbledore was right, in this case; it was the only way they could trust him with one hundred percent certainty. It had to be done.

She nodded.

Fixing her with a brief, wan smile, the Headmaster said, "Thank you, Hermione." Malfoy echoed in kind, and then followed the Headmaster's gesture to the centre of the room.

Hermione crossed to stand nearby as Dumbledore knelt somewhat painfully on the hard stones; it was a harsh reminder of how old the Headmaster truly was when his knees cracked and one hand grasped the edge of the nearby armchair for momentary support.

Malfoy knelt, too, at the bidding of the old man, but Hermione remained on her feet, standing so both men were in profile to her, and she could see Snape across the room. He was still staring out the window, though Hermione doubted he saw much beyond the confines of his thoughts. She sighed as she withdrew her wand from a pocket; somehow, she knew it was going to come down to her to speak with him later, however black his mood turned out to be.

The movement of the old wizard and young Slytherin joining hands broke her chain of thought, and she stared at their intertwined fingers anxiously.

"Place your wand tip to our hands, Miss Granger," Dumbledore instructed. "Concentrate on my words, and the magic will do the rest."

Hermione complied, and the Headmaster began. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the room seemed to dim around them, the faces of the old wizard and the young one standing out, pale and serious.

"Draco Aulus Malfoy, do you swear loyalty to me, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?"

Malfoy cleared his throat with some difficulty, and finally managed to utter hoarsely, "I do."

Unbidden, a shot of orange flame sprang forth from her wand and curled around the joined hands of the Headmaster and Head Boy.

Beyond the glare of the sudden light, Hermione saw Snape turn, and his eyes locked with hers. He seemed calm, but she could see pain and regret in his eyes. With a start, she realised the scene taking place almost exactly mirrored his own Vow. The Bonder was different, but the setting and circumstances were eerily familiar.

"And will you, Draco, support and uphold the ideals of the Order of the Phoenix, the Ministry of Magic and civilised wizarding society, actively assisting us in our work to defeat Tom Riddle and his followers?"

Malfoy swallowed. "I will."

A second tongue of flame wrapped around their hands, curling and hissing as it mingled with the first.

"And are you, Draco Malfoy, prepared to denounce the expectations of your family and Tom Riddle in order to fulfil your duties to me?"

"I am."

A third rope of fire shot from Hermione's wand to join the others, and through the harsh red glow of the magical flames she saw Severus turn away and bow his head.

The fiery tongues vanished as quickly as they had appeared, the air cleared and Hermione let her wand hand drop to her side. As Dumbledore rose and extended a hand to his young charge, Hermione realised she was trembling.

"I commend you, Mr Malfoy," the Headmaster said softly, "on a choice which I know will not be easy for you, and I assure you that _all _of us shall help you in any way we are able."

Hermione murmured a wordless noise of agreement and smiled tightly at Malfoy.

The Slytherin nodded but didn't speak, his face pale, lips set in a thin line over his clenched jaw.

"And now," Dumbledore said, "Severus, Miss Granger, perhaps you might excuse us. I know you both have many questions for Mr Malfoy, and perhaps some explanations of your own," he looked pointedly at Snape, who scowled and looked away, "but there is much I need to discuss with him first."

Snape made to leave without a word, but he paused when he reached the mantle and turned back to address the young Slytherin.

"I apologise for not trusting you, Draco," he said in his stiffest voice. "After six years of seeing you as your father's son, I simply could not afford to take the risk."

The young man looked away, then, something akin to guilt or remorse flushing his face.

Snape took a pinch of Floo powder and disappeared without waiting for a response.

Hermione bit her lip, looking from the fireplace back to the other occupants of the room.

"It is hard," Dumbledore said slowly, "for him to see anyone set on what appears to be the same path he has been forced onto by ill circumstance."

She nodded, hearing the regret in the Headmaster's voice, too, at what had taken place both tonight and that similar night, many years ago, which she had only seen in a memory.

Fixing Malfoy with another reassuring smile, although not being able to find words to accompany it, she left and Flooed back to Snape's quarters, too.

* * *

"Severus?" she called as she stepped out of the hearth. The sitting room was empty, the lab door closed, and she heard a faint noise coming from the bathroom.

As she moved to cross the room, her feet crunched on something grainy, and she looked down to see the shattered remains of the Floo powder jar, the silvery powder strewn across the stone floor.

Sighing, she pulled out her wand, mended the jar and Vanished the ruined powder. His temper had only worsened during the time in Dumbledore's office, but she wasn't about to leave without at least attempting to reach out to him.

Standing in the bathroom doorway after crossing the bedroom, she observed Snape standing at the sink, head bowed, his hands braced on the edge of the hand basin.

"Severus?" she repeated.

"Don't." His voice was so low she could hardly hear it, even in the acoustics of the tiled room. She took a few steps towards him.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know it wasn't my place to-"

"I am not angry with you, Hermione," he said tightly. "But neither am I in any mood for discussion. It would be best if you were to leave, I think."

Hermione stared at him for a beat, observing the tense line of his jaw, half-hidden by the curtain of hair hanging forwards. Then, reluctantly, she backed out of the room, a frown of concern on her face; she hated when he closed up like that, though she knew her unwanted presence would only antagonise him. As much as she was loathe to put herself on the receiving end of that anger, she wondered whether it was better out than in.

She was halfway across the bedroom when the tinkling smash of glass reached her ears. She knew instantly what it was; she should have known better than to think he could control all of his pent-up frustration after something like this.

A repeated dull thud reached her ears next, sending her into action. She ran quickly back to the bathroom and found the source of the thudding; he was pounding his fist into the stone exposed by the shattered mirror.

"Severus!" she exclaimed in alarm. He stopped his violent movement for a moment, grinding his fist against the rough stone with a low growl of frustration.

He dropped his hand as she reached his side. His eyes were closed, lips set in a thin, tight line, and he was breathing quickly through his nose. His left hand was still clenching the porcelain rim of the basin.

She knew better than to make a foolish enquiry as to his well-being. He was obviously not all right. She settled for resting one hand lightly on his back, just below the collar of his shirt. It wasn't a comforting gesture, as such, but just one reminding him of her presence there beside him.

"I thought you'd left," he said finally, his voice hollow and defeated.

"And leave you to take out your anger on poor, harmless mirrors? I don't think so," she chided gently.

"Your newest cause?" he mocked, tilting his head back to regard her out the corner of his eyes. "Society for the Protection of Inanimate Objects?"

"Very funny," she muttered.

Eyeing the reflective shards littered on the floor around them and in the basin, she pulled out her wand.

"Here, step back," she said, moving her hand to grip his arm and lightly pull him away from the mess. "Let me fix that mirror."

He acquiesced, releasing his grasp on the basin, moving back with her as she cast, "_Reparo_."

The shards flew back into place, and it was only at his sharp gasp of pain that she realised her error. The tiny pieces that had embedded themselves in his knuckles from his repeated pounding of the wall flew back to join the rest of the mirror, the sharp edges tearing his skin as they sought the most direct route to their destination.

"Damn," she cursed as he shook his hand, droplets of blood splattering onto the floor.

"I suppose I deserved that," he commented wryly, examining his hand as the blood continued to run.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I didn't think of that. Here give me your hand."

She held out her non-wand hand, palm up, and gestured for him to place his injured hand in hers. He complied, and she felt his eyes on the top of her head as she concentrated on healing the tiny cuts across his knuckles.

"Thank you," he murmured when the last one disappeared and she lowered her wand.

"I'm not done yet," she said firmly. "That's going to bruise unless you put some salve on it. Come on, let's go into the sitting room; it's cold in here."

He nodded and followed her numbly, sitting on the couch while she continued into the lab to retrieve a jar of bruise salve. She sat next to him and uncapped the jar, taking a scoop of the sticky cream on her fingers. Taking his hand in hers, she spread the salve across his knuckles, already colouring from the abuse. She took her time, enjoying the feel of his slender hand under her touch as she massaged each knuckle in turn.

"It was the only thing to do," she said after some time, still not releasing his hand. "You know that."

"It doesn't mean I have to agree with it," he replied tersely.

She waited another minute before asking the question that was bothering her.

"Is that really what you're so angry about, Malfoy being forced to take the Vow? Or is it that Professor Dumbledore won't release you from yours?"

He snatched his hand away from her. "You think me so selfish that I would worry about that after all this time?" he demanded.

"No," she said calmly. "I think you are anything but selfish. I think you're angry that it has come to this with Malfoy, but you know there isn't another way. And I think you're hurt that, for all his trust in you, Professor Dumbledore won't rely on that alone for you to do what he continues to ask of you."

"Why would he," Severus said, a trace of bitterness in his tone, "when he can be guaranteed cooperation without question or argument from me now?"

She didn't answer, but pulled at his folded arms until he released his hand into her own again. The salve was all but absorbed, and she let her touch soften to a light caress, making random circles across the pale skin and up to the cuff of his shirt.

"He's just a boy, Hermione," he said quietly. She looked up at him, but he was staring across the room at nothing in particular.

"He's an adult, really," she corrected. "Still young, but an adult all the same."

Snape shook his head. "He knows nothing of the world beyond what his father has taught him."

"Give him some credit, Severus," she replied. "He has proven tonight he is capable of thinking for himself."

"He's not capable of this, though. The Dark Lord will only have to look at him and sense his betrayal; he'll be dead within weeks."

The complete and utter despair in his voice moved Hermione almost to tears herself, and she hated that there was nothing she could to alleviate any of his worry.

"We'll just have to make sure he's prepared," she finally said.

He tore his hand from hers again, standing up and walking away across the room.

"Damn it, Hermione! You have no idea what it will be like for him. The slightest hint of fear and he will be dead, and not before the Dark Lord had plundered his mind for everything he has learnt from us."

"What else can Malfoy do, though?" she asked softly.

"Nothing." The anger left him as quickly as it had appeared, and he returned to the couch, slumping down next to her. "That is what Dumbledore asks of him, and so that is what he will have to do whether he is capable of succeeding or not."

"Will you help him?

"Of course," he said sharply. Then, after a beat, added, "If he can forgive me for not already trying to do so."

"He was shocked and angry tonight," she reasoned. "And frightened. Give him time; he'll come around."

"Time," Severus murmured, laying his head against the back of the couch. "The one thing we do not have."

She watched him for a few minutes, staring pensively up at the ceiling. Words were again inadequate to convey what either of them were feeling, and so she simply settled back against him, leaning into his shoulder, counting on her presence to offer what small measure of comfort she could. He put his arm around her as they sat in silence, and she couldn't help but think how different the mood was to when she had first appeared earlier that night.

Her own guilt at not having realised she was being followed rose up in her, but she clamped down on the urge to apologise now. If Malfoy had been suspicious enough to follow her, he would have found out where she was going sooner or later. Though she could hardly see it at the moment, and she wouldn't dare mention it to Severus, perhaps something good would come of the Slytherin's discovery. At least they knew where he stood, now.

Hermione wasn't sure how long they sat there, each lost in their own thoughts. When the fireplace flared green, though, and the Headmaster appeared, Hermione didn't bother to lift her head from Severus' shoulder, and nor did he remove his arm from around her as he eyed the older man suspiciously.

Professor McGonagall appeared moments after Dumbledore, and took in their closeness with an unreadable expression. Hermione had long suspected the Headmaster shared most things with his Deputy, and his approval of her relationship with Severus was likely one of them. After a moment of silence, McGonagall moved to take one of the armchairs opposite the couch and simply said, "It has been a trying day for all of us, I would imagine."

Hermione nodded at sat up a bit straighter, watching the two teachers curiously.

"Is there something you require, Headmaster?" Snape asked as the older wizard took the remaining seat. "You know you need only ask."

The biting sarcasm was clear in Snape's voice, but as Dumbledore regarded them both, Hermione was struck by how old he looked in the firelight.

"I find I must be doubly asking for your forgiveness tonight, Severus," he said at length, sorrow ringing clear in his voice. "I have made a terrible error of judgement. I was confident Tom would not return a student to us so Marked, and I would not have let Draco go if I had known it would come to this."

"I told you this might happen," Snape said. "I warned you."

"Yes, you did," Dumbledore agreed, "and because I failed to heed your warning, young Mr Malfoy must now pay the price. I ask only for your help in this task he has been assigned."

"Assigned? Albus, you're sending him to his death."

"He is determined to do what he can," the Headmaster said. "I hope Tom will not call him again whilst he is at school, but I just do not know anymore. It has been a harsh reminder that I cannot control everything as I would like."

Hermione saw Snape open his mouth to make a sharp retort, but then close it again. Her heart went out to the aging wizard sitting across from them; she believed he genuinely had not seen this turn of events coming and, after recalling his distress when Severus was close to death after _his_ discovery by Voldemort, she knew it must have shaken the Headmaster to have to resign another young man to the possibility of a similar fate.

"I admit, once I had the means to dictate my will as I saw fit, it hardly crossed my mind what effect that would have on others. I have made many grievous errors in my time, but perhaps none so much as in these past six months. I cannot make amends any more than young Mr Malfoy can be freed from that which now binds him to Tom, but there is something I feel I must do, if only to silence a small part of the conscience that constantly plagues me."

Snape watched unspoken, as the older man leant forwards in his chair, steepling his hands under his chin.

"There is someone whom I have trusted impeccably for many years, yet never have I shown faith in that trust, and in his loyalty to me, always choosing instead to blame obligation for his actions. It is time for me to show the trust I have in you, Severus."

"Albus-"

Hermione glanced at McGonagall in confusion, but her Head of House shook her head, her eyes on the Headmaster as he rose from his chair and moved around the coffee table to stand in front of the other man. Before Severus could protest, Dumbledore reached out and grasped his arm, drawing him up from the couch.

"Albus, what-" he started to ask again, confusion warring with annoyance in his voice.

"Quiet, my boy," Dumbledore said. "I owe you so much more than this, but it is all I can give, for now."

Hermione watched, wide-eyed, as the Headmaster pulled Snape out into the middle of the room and knelt on the floor for the second time that night, gesturing for the other man to join him. Wordlessly, but looking paler than usual, Severus complied, and Dumbledore grasped the pale right hand with his own.

At a glance from the Headmaster, McGonagall rose from her chair and crossed to stand next to the two wizards. When she withdrew her wand and touched their joined hands, three tongues of fire appeared suddenly, illuminating both wizards' faces in a bright orange glow.

"Severus Snape," Dumbledore said, his voice echoing in the stillness of the room, "I release you from the Unbreakable Vow which has bound you to obey my will these long years, with the faith that you will continue to do what is right and honourable."

One tongue of flame uncoiled slowly from the rest, vanishing with a quiet crackle.

"I free you from any obligation to serve the Order of the Phoenix, in the firm belief that you will continue to fight beside us of your own free will."

Another coil of fire disappeared.

"And finally," Dumbledore said softly, "I give you back your life, and wish only that you embrace it as a gift, not a curse, henceforth learning how to truly _live_."

The final tongue of fire unravelled slowly from around their joined wrists and vanished as McGonagall lowered her wand. Hermione felt something wet on the back of her hand, resting in her lap and she looked down, startled. Her vision blurred as she dropped her eyes, and it was only then she realised that the wetness was her own tears, running silently down her cheeks.

Dumbledore released Snape's hand, and the former Potions master rocked back on his heels, both hands dropping to rest on his knees. His head was bowed, a curtain of lank hair hiding his face from them all.

The Headmaster climbed painfully to his feet for the second time that evening, and then extended a hand to the other man.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, and the he finally looked up, his face strangely blank as he accepted the proffered hand and also rose from the floor. Instead of releasing the hand, though, Dumbledore tightened his grasp.

"You know I cannot extend Mr Malfoy the same trust at this time?"

He nodded, but then said hoarsely, "Albus, I didn't expect you to... I never meant-"

"It's quite all right, my boy," the Headmaster said, finally releasing Severus' hand. "This is something which is long overdue."

Hermione watched as he nodded numbly, stunned and overwhelmed by the Headmaster's actions.

McGonagall stowed her wand up her sleeve and rested her own hand on Severus' shoulder for a moment. Then, spotting Hermione still sitting on the couch, she said, "Come, Miss Granger. I think there has been quite enough excitement for one night, and it is well after curfew."

Hermione stood up, but her gaze drifted to Severus. He met her eyes, his own glittering strangely in the firelight, but shook his head almost imperceptibly. She wanted to do something, say something, before she left, but she, too, was at a loss for words.

She reluctantly followed her Head of House, first to the fireplace, and then to the door to the first floor corridor when McGonagall discovered the lack of Floo powder. Glancing back into the room just before she closed the door behind them, she saw the Headmaster returning to one of the armchairs, while Severus had sunk back onto the couch, his hands clasped behind his bowed head.

* * *

**To be continued**

_This is the first half of a chapter which became rather too long to post in its entirely all at once. The next chapter, as always, is posted at OWL, and hopefully I'll be able to post it here over Christmas!  
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_Many, many, many thanks to Potion Mistress, beta extraordinaire, who somehow manages to make sense of my strange phrasing and wrangle it into something resembling coherency._

_If anyone is wondering why Severus was able to go to the Headmaster's office whilst still under the Vow not to leave his rooms, I have assumed that a direct invitation from Dumbledore would temporarily override the requirements of the Vow._

_Draco's middle name comes from Aulus Vitellius, son of Lucius Vitellius and a short-lived emperor of Rome. I chose Aulus mainly because I liked the name, and his father's name seemed fitting, but I found in interesting upon reading more that Vitellius' lack of military expertise "forced him to rely in critical situations on largely inneffective lieutenants". It reminded me a bit of Draco's association with Crabbe and Goyle in the books, and how incapable they have been of getting anything right in this story (thankfully)._

_And, lastly, thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I love hearing what you think!_


	36. Just To Be

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 36**_  
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In the next week and a half, Hermione saw very little of Severus at all. It was two nights after Draco took the Vow before Hermione was even able to talk to him alone; by that time, whatever effect the removal of _his_ Vow had on him, it had been carefully concealed, even from her.

The full moon was approaching again; as well as making the Wolfsbane variation from the previous month, Severus was also making numerous other adaptations of the original. Lupin had made contact with others of his kind who were eager to have the burden of their affliction lessened in exchange for assisting the Order; now they wanted proof of the potion's ability to help them. Hermione was still brewing for Madam Pomfrey, too, but he had asked her to work around the nights he was in the lab.

The Wolfsbane was still very much experimental - and possibly volatile - and he wouldn't risk her presence if something went wrong. She argued that she _should_ be there for that very reason, but he would not be moved. Consequently, she did her brewing in the lab alone, the door to the sitting room closed while Severus worked with Malfoy.

Hermione hadn't asked what they did in their long meetings, and he hadn't spoken of it voluntarily. After the initial shock of his discovery, the Head Boy had realised his anger at his former Head of House was misplaced, and also that Severus was quite possibly the only person who could adequately guide him through the delicate situation he now found himself to be in. She assumed Occlumency would be a major part of the lessons – if Malfoy's father took him before Voldemort again, revealing what he now knew would have far-reaching consequences for them all.

Hermione only hoped the lessons were more productive than those Harry had toiled through with their former Potions master during fifth year. There was an element of trust involved, Hermione supposed, to make one's mind vulnerable enough to learn such an art, and the lack of that trust had undoubtedly been the root of Harry's failure.

It was different with Malfoy, though. He had always held Severus in high regard, and now, after learning of the dangerous game the older man had been playing for nigh on two decades, that respect had increased exponentially.

Though it had been far beyond his control, Snape was guilt-ridden over Malfoy having been forced to take the Mark, and had taken it upon himself to prepare the Slytherin for whatever he might have to face in the near future. Hermione shuddered to think of the topics they would be covering in those preparatory lessons, and she wondered if he was recounting his own experiences in order to strength Malfoy's defences against the horrors he would undoubtedly have to face?

One morning, before breakfast, Hermione went down to the lab to bottle and then retrieve the now-cooled potion she had brewed the previous night. As she took out her wand to unward the lab door, something shimmering caught her eye, and she turned to see a Pensieve in the middle of the desk. She stepped closer, recognising the bowl filled with memories as the same one Severus had used to view _her_ memory of the first altercation with Goyle, so many months ago. The silvery contents were rippling slightly – whether they were Snape's or Malfoy's memories, she didn't know - and she checked her curiosity to move closer still, unpleasant recollections of when Dumbledore had taken her into _his_ Pensieve resurfacing.

Still, as she turned and opened the door to the lab, she couldn't resist one last glance over her shoulder at the silvery allure of the shimmering substance.

Returning to the room not five minutes later, she resolutely ignored the bowl on the desk and crossed to the door of the hidden passage, balancing two large phials of the potion in one hand as she reached for her wand again.

Just as she was about to leave, though, she heard a noise and stopped. Listening carefully, she realised it was the muffled sound of running water coming from the bathroom. A fleeting image of Severus, head bowed, hands braced on the tiled wall of the shower as the water cascaded over his back, came unbidden into her mind.

She flushed, a tingling warmth spreading throughout her body. Hermione wondered briefly – though it was a crazy notion she would never have the courage to put into practice – what he would do if she joined him in his current... activity.

She closed her eyes, imagining the surprise on his face turn to appreciation – and anticipation – as her intentions became clear to him. Hermione licked her lips unconsciously and imagined letting her gaze travel down his pale, wet torso to settle on...

Her imagination failed her there, though, for she had yet to lay eyes upon anything below his waist... save for his feet, of course. She had felt more, though. She shivered involuntarily at the memory of the mornings she awoke to find him melded close behind her...

The clink of the phials in her hand brought her back to reality, and she shook herself, trying to tamp down her riotous hormones.

By the time she had delivered the potion to the Hospital Wing and reached the Great Hall for breakfast, she had managed to calm down by talking to herself quite severely. _Honestly,_ she scolded herself. _You're acting like some randy teenage boy!_

Despite her self-scolding, though, throughout the day she found it increasingly difficult to banish thoughts of Severus from her mind... especially the kind of thoughts that caused her to blush hotly in the middle of class. She was thankful they were practising particularly difficult charms that afternoon, as she could at least blame the redness of her cheeks on effort and concentration.

If she ever thought not seeing Severus would be easier than seeing him but not really being able to _be_ with him, she was wrong. She had shared his bed once in the whole week and a half since the night Malfoy followed her, and even then she had fallen asleep before he had joined her. She had woken up the following morning to find him beside her, his head buried in her hair, sniffing unconsciously as the frizz irritated his nose.

Other than that, she had hardly seen him, and never alone.

She missed the evenings in his sitting room, studying at his desk or curled up next to him on the couch, reading; she missed being in the lab with him while he brewed, explaining the next step to her, or why a particular ingredients was used instead of another. She missed the spontaneous kisses she never knew he was in the mood for until he left her breathless with one, and she missed waking up next to him in the soft grey light of the early morning, warmth radiating from his body.

At first, she had resolved not to complain - the time he spent with Malfoy could very well save the Slytherin's life if he was called before Voldemort in the near future – but her tolerance of their relationship as it now stood was quickly fading. She knew it was selfish, but how could she be expected to just push her feelings for him aside, when they had been so close to taking that final step?

Her physical yearning aside, there was still just a simple desire to spend time with one she cared so deeply about. Every week that passed brought them nearer to the inevitable confrontation with Voldemort, and though Severus was no longer bound to Dumbledore's wishes by magic, being free from obligation had seen surprisingly little change in his life so far.

Though she hadn't had the chance to raise the subject, she had always known there was more depth and honour to Severus' obedience of the Headmaster than just the Vow. She knew, deep down, Severus would still do whatever Dumbledore required of him to help win the war. Things could go badly for either of them, and though she had utmost faith in Harry to fulfil the prophecy and defeat Voldemort, the thought of the confrontation terrified her.

The night after the Vow, Hermione, Harry and Ron were called to the Headmaster's office, accompanied by Professor McGonagall. There had been a tense moment of absolute silence when Severus Flooed in with Draco close behind him, and then Harry had exploded. To his credit, Malfoy had remained silent while Harry shouted, stamped and pleaded with the Headmaster that it was all a grand scheme of Voldemort's. Severus watched the scene with an impassive expression, though Hermione noticed his right hand was tensed to pull his wand from his sleeve if Harry turned on the Head Boy.

He didn't though, and seemed to lose momentum when he realised no one – not even Ron, to Hermione's surprise – seemed to agree with his accusations. Finally, he had slumped down into his chair and allowed Dumbledore to calmly explain the circumstances and Malfoy's Vow.

Harry had been silent, eyeing the Slytherin with distrust, but there was no denying the validity of the Vow. When the Headmaster insisted, he had grudgingly shaken hands with Malfoy, still eyeing him with distrust. To Hermione's surprise, and unasked by Dumbledore, Malfoy had then extended his hand to Ron, too. Her red-haired friend had been sitting silently since Malfoy had arrived, not joining Harry in his accusations, but neither trying to calm his fellow Gryffindor.

He did accepted Malfoy's offered hand, though, and Hermione saw McGonagall and Dumbledore exchange an approving glance.

On the Thursday night of the week following the confrontation with Malfoy, Hermione was sitting in the common room with Ron. They were both attempting to read over her Transfiguration notes from sixth year, but neither could concentrate. Harry was with Dumbledore again, and he had been growing more restless as the days went by. He was hardly concentrating on any of his classes except Defence, and on more than one occasion Hermione had caught him reading books full of Dark spells instead of revising for his NEWTs. She had no idea where the books had come from; they looked advanced beyond even those in the Restricted Section of the library, and she very much doubted the Headmaster would have supplied any student, even Harry, with such materials.

Against her better judgement, though, she told no one else of the books except Ron. Something had changed in Harry; he was meeting with Dumbledore almost every night, returning to the common room silent, but with anger flashing in his eyes. Hermione and Ron had finally discovered what was wrong, though their friend's explanation had done nothing but increase their concerns. Harry had decided, with Malfoy on their side, they could use him to find Voldemort – find him and finish him once and for all.

His stony resolve, when he had told them he wanted to make the first strike against the enemy, frightened Hermione. She was glad the Headmaster had refused to act, but what if Harry took it upon himself to act outside the Headmaster's wishes? It wouldn't be the first time, and as reckless as it would be, how could she or Ron not follow him on whatever fool's errand he chose to take?

Hermione was already worried for Harry, Ron and Severus if it came to a carefully planned confrontation with the whole Order behind them. If Harry chose to act first, who knew what would happen?

She kept her worries to herself, though; she was afraid to show Harry anything less than full support for his ability to defeat Voldemort – alone or otherwise – and Ron had enough to worry about with his entire family in the Order. Previously, she'd been able to go to Severus with her worries. There were no illusions about the way he still felt about her two best friends, but he listened to her concerns impartially and kept his snide comments about Gryffindor recklessness and stupidity to a minimum.

Just having someone to talk to eased the confusion of worries and feelings in her mind, but now there wasn't even the opportunity for her to talk with him. She didn't want him to reassure her with false words of comfort; she just needed someone to know – to notice – how much everything was getting to her. Perhaps it was selfish wanting to share her concerns with him when he had so much to deal with already, but she honestly felt that if she didn't see him - and talk to him - that night, she wouldn't be able to hold herself together for even another day.

Muttering something about going for a walk to clear her head, she left Ron and made her way out into the corridors. She could have Flooed directly from her room, of course, but then Ron would have deduced where she was going. Her red-haired friend had gone so far as to mention he was glad for the time they had spent together in the last few weeks, and so she was loathe to admit she was leaving his company for another's.

Halfway down the many flights of stairs to the first floor, she met Malfoy. The Head Boy glanced around and, seeing they were alone, asked, "Where are you going?"

She raised her eyebrows in what she thought was a knowing look and simply said, "The first floor."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he frowned.

"He's brewing tonight; he told me not to come."

"I won't disturb him," she said, annoyed at his interest. As he eyed her contemplatively, it wasn't the first time whether she wondered if he had deduced the extent of her relationship with his former Head of House?

The night he had followed her, he had probably been too shocked with the realisation Severus was alive to register what she had been saying... _propositioning_, she thought with a blush. He'd seen them interacting since then, though, on the sparse occasions they had all been in the same room together, and he was nothing if not perceptive.

She doubted whether he would have been so bold as to question Snape about it, nor was she sure what the older man would have said if asked, but she still got the distinct feeling he knew more than he was letting on.

"I won't be staying long," she finally said. "I left a book I need in his sitting room."

Malfoy shrugged, then, and stepped back from her, seeing a group of first-years ascending the staircase towards them.

"Just thought I'd warn you," he said quietly, too low for the approaching students to hear. "He doesn't like to be disturbed when he's busy."

She drew herself up, fixing her face with the haughty expression she usually graced him with in public.

"I think I know _that_, Malfoy," she said. The first-years, who had reached the landing on which the Head Boy and Girl stood, stopped their conversation; the animosity between the two older students was palpable.

Malfoy glared at Hermione, the meaning of her words not lost on him, before turning and continuing on upstairs. Ignoring the younger students still looking at her, Hermione continued downstairs to the first floor, resolving to also ask Severus just what he had told Malfoy about them.

If she had been hoping to talk, though, she was wrong. From the moment she opened the lab door, it was clear he was in no mood for interruptions, and she bit her lip, wondering if she should have heeded Malfoy's warning after all.

"I'm rather busy," he said tersely, barely sparing her a glance as she stood in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"No."

"Do you mind if I stay, then?" she persisted.

"I'd rather you didn't," he said, picking up another phial and emptying the contents carefully into the steaming cauldron.

She remained in the doorway, watching him with a mixture of confusion and disappointment. Everything she wanted to say to him was bubbling just under the surface; she was tired of not being able to talk to him, and tonight might be her only chance for another week and a half, if things continued the way they had been. She didn't think she could keep herself together for that long.

Her eyes snapped back to him, startled, as he set an empty jar down on the workbench with more force than necessary, and his own eyes flashed his annoyance at her.

"Don't just stand there," he snapped. "If you insist on staying, sit down and keep quiet. Otherwise, and preferably, leave. I have no time for idle chatter tonight."

He turned back to the potion without another glance in her direction, and she stepped back out into the other room, closing the door behind her. She was stung by his abrupt dismissal; normally, his terse words didn't bother her and she retorted in kind, but tonight, with everything weighing so heavily on her mind, they were simply too much.

She didn't know why she was feeling so emotional lately; it wasn't like her at all. She was usually so level-headed and in control, but in the last few days the slightest ill-thought remark had her close to tears.

Worse than the confusion of emotions running through her, though, was the realisation none of her friends had noticed. Not Harry, not Ron, and not even Severus seemed aware of her distress in the slightest. As far as the latter was concerned, she had been glad at first. She hated showing weakness in front of him, believing it to be a reminder of how young she still was.

Now, though, all she wanted was some sympathy, most especially from him. Despite snapping at her tonight, she knew he wasn't uncaring of her worries; he simply hadn't seen enough of her to realise anything was wrong. She resolved to wait for him tonight, though, in the hope that when he finally came to bed he would be in a better mood, good enough at least to lend an ear while she vented her frustrations. It felt good, she had already discovered, to be able to talk to someone who simply listened without offering false words of comfort or unnecessary advice... though she would gladly take comfort from him, too.

Pacing aimlessly, she found herself in his bedroom. She estimated she had at least two hours to wait until the potion was complete and he could join her. The best thing to do while she waited, Hermione decided, was to try to get some rest, in the hope of gaining some semblance of control over her unruly emotions.

Kicking off her shoes and shrugging out of her outer robe, she curled up in the middle of the soft mattress, dragging one of the pillows from what had become Severus' side of the bed across to rest her head on, as she tried to ignore the tears that were again smarting at the corners of her eyes.

Instead of comforting her, being there in his room, alone, was only a reminder of how little she had seen him… and how much she missed him.

Breathing in the deep, earthy scent which clung to the pillow, she clutched it more tightly to her chest, hating how something could smell so much like him yet feel so different.

* * *

After setting the magical timer floating over the cauldron for forty-five minutes, Snape sank down onto the nearby stool, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

Glancing towards the closed door leading to the sitting room, he wondered if Hermione was still there. He had spoken to her rather harshly, he thought with a grimace, but she rarely interrupted him while he was brewing; she knew better, especially given the increasing importance of the Wolfsbane.

He wondered why she had risked his ire tonight to see if he could talk – or listen, she had amended, when he had first rebuked her request. She had looked... distressed, now he thought about it.

Her silent exit was unusual, too. On previous occasions when he had snarled at her in a fit of temper, she had done one of two things. If she was in a mood herself, she had met him with equal anger, reminding him swiftly she was no longer his student to be intimidated. Or, when she was in a more placating mood, she would watch him with mild eyes until he grew uncomfortable with the scrutiny and told her what was really bothering him.

And tonight there was much on his mind. Lucius Malfoy had again requested the presence of his son at home, and on a school night, no less. Again, the Headmaster had seen no choice but to acquiesce, leaving Snape to tell the boy he would quite possibly be facing the Dark Lord within the week.

Truthfully, he was worried sick about young Draco and what Dumbledore was asking of the boy. There really _was_ little choice now, though. He would have to go home as requested in order to satisfy his father and not arouse suspicion that anything was amiss.

The Headmaster knew as well as Snape did that Narcissa's birthday was merely a convenient coincidence to lure Draco away from the school; the last day of April held a special significance for Voldemort, and Snape was convinced he would not let the date pass unnoticed.

Snape had said nothing of this to Hermione, though; he hadn't seen her to speak of it, and she would undoubtedly worry if she knew. While the Head Boy and Girl had been careful to maintain their frosty distance in public, Severus had been pleased to see Hermione extend the hand of friendship to her Slytherin counterpart on the occasions they had both been in his rooms.

Hermione's Gryffindor friends hadn't been so readily accepting of Malfoy, but that was to be expected. To his surprise, the Weasley boy had seemed more accepting of their new ally than Potter. Still, six years of animosity were hard to overcome, and he knew Hermione was more forgiving than most. She had, after all, forgiven him for six years worth of insults; forgiven, but not forgotten.

He had been surprised and dismayed to learn how much his comment about her teeth in her fourth year had hurt her. He hadn't given it a second thought at the time, but he felt a sharp pang of guilt when she had recounted it to him one night not so long ago. It was, she had said, the only time she had ever truly hated him. Most of the remarks he sent her way in class were backhanded compliments, from a certain point of view; there had been nothing backhanded about the four words he had spat at her that day, though. With the return of the Dark Lord close on the horizon, he had been on edge already, and the quarrelling Gryffindors and Slytherins had only antagonised him further. His comment to her had been made out of pure malice and spite, and though she laughed it off now, it bothered him that it was still there in the back of her mind.

And now, tonight, he seemed to have spoken too harshly again.

He sighed, cursing himself for speaking so abruptly; he should have realised she wouldn't disturb him while brewing but for something of great importance, and he hadn't bothered to find out what it was before dismissing her. He had seen so little of her already, since his lessons with Malfoy had begun to take up so much of his evening time, and now, when she came to him, obviously in need of something, he had turned her away without a second thought... it wasn't her fault he was already distracted from his work by unpleasant thoughts.

Eyeing the magical timer again, Snape noted there were still thirty-five minutes until he had to attend to the potion again. _Time enough to make amends_, he thought. Checking the flame beneath the cauldron to be sure it wasn't too high, he went into the sitting room to find Hermione.

The room was empty, but then his gaze fell on the bedroom door, slightly ajar; he knew he had closed it behind him that afternoon. Crossing the room and stepping just inside the door, he spotted her curled up in the middle of the bed, facing away from him, a pillow clutched tightly to her chest.

With quiet footsteps, in case she was asleep, he approached the bed, eyes widening in confusion as he realised she wasn't asleep.

She was blinking quickly in an effort to hide her unshed tears from him, but nothing could disguise her bloodshot eyes, the shiny tracks down her cheeks, or the wet patch on his pillow where her tears had fallen.

Dismayed, he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed behind her and leant over her, bracing one hand on the comforter across the other side of her body.

She stiffened and turned her head further from him, her unruly hair falling forwards to hide her face.

"Hermione?"

There was silence for a moment, and then his other hand reached for her shoulder, pulling gently to encourage her to turn over to face him. Reluctantly releasing her grasp on his pillow, she rolled onto her back and finally met his eyes.

"What-" he began, but she cut him off.

"It's nothing," she whispered hoarsely. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry?" he echoed. "Hermione, I'm sorry if I was abrupt before, but-"

"It's not that. I shouldn't have bothered you... I just... I'm just having a bad day and I just wanted to see you," she finished softly as another tear escaped one eye and ran down her temple into her hair.

Her confession brought a sudden, dull ache into his chest and he stared at her wordlessly for a moment. Even after everything that had happened, the idea that someone _just wanted to see him_ was still foreign, as was the realisation, one evening after Draco had left earlier that week, that he very much wanted just to see _her_. He had even considered calling her through the Floo which connected their rooms, and had the powder in his hand before he noticed how late it was; she would likely be sleeping.

Such realisations also made him feel even worse, if possible, for turning her away so harshly when she had arrived tonight.

Spoken apologies on his part always seemed insincere and inadequate, in his eyes, though, and so he did the only other thing he could think of that might help.

He shifted on the bed, sitting so he could lean back against the headboard, and pulled her into his lap. She turned gratefully into his embrace, burying her head against his chest and snaking her own arms about his back. He could feel that she was crying again, trembling, but there must be more to her distress than a simple need to see _him_. Until she told him what else was wrong, though, he could do little more than hold her, one hand rubbing comforting circles on her back.

She quieted after some time and then pulled back to look up at him, an apologetic expression on her face.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so-"

"You have nothing to apologise for, Hermione," Snape said, firmly but gently. "It is I who should be apologising; it seems my earlier callous dismissal of you has only compounded your distress, but would you care to enlighten me as to the other causes of it?"

"I don't know," she whispered uncertainly. "It's just… everything."

"I think you do know," he said, shifting slightly so she didn't have to tilt her head back at such an awkward angle to meet his eyes. "You cannot possibly be so distressed over not having seen me, bad day or not."

"No, it's not _just_ that," she admitted. "But I have missed you."

"Don't change the subject," he said, though had he been a more openly expressive man, he might have returned the sentiment in kind.

She sighed and rested her head against him again, gazing across the room.

"I don't know where to start," she confessed. "I feel selfish even bringing up my worries when everyone has their own to deal with, so I guess I've just been keeping them all to myself."

"Not a good idea, for a start," he chastised her, ignoring the voice inside his head that suggested he take heed of his own advice.

"I know," she sighed, "but there's just no one to talk _to_. Harry has far too much to deal with on his own; now that Malfoy is on our side, he thinks it's a way to get to Voldemort, that Malfoy can lead him there. Professor Dumbledore won't hear of it though – he says the time isn't right – and so Harry is getting restless. I'm afraid he's going to do something stupid if he isn't allowed to take action soon."

"He learnt the hard way what rushing into a situation achieves," Snape reminded her, his lip curling as he recalled the boy leading his friends on such a fool's errand near the end of their fifth year.

"Yes," she countered, "but he just seems to have almost reached his breaking point, though, only he's too proud to be the first one to crack. Ron and I are trying to be there for him, but he's got his own problems – his whole family is out there, vulnerable... and I've got other things to worry about, too."

_I've got you_, was unspoken, but he knew she worried constantly about him, and about the role Dumbledore wanted him to play.

As though picking up on his thoughts, she murmured, "At least you're not bound to do everything he says anymore."

Snape sighed. He knew the conversation would eventually turn to this, and while he wouldn't lie to her, she wasn't going to like what he had to say.

"It was never just about the Vow, Hermione," he said quietly. "Albus gave me a second chance. When all that lay ahead of me was a dank cell in the bowels of Azkaban, he fought to give me a chance to right my wrongs. I can never hope to repay him that debt, and I will do all he asks of me in this war, Vow or not."

She looked up at him again, her already-bright eyes on the verge of spilling over again.

He met her gaze evenly, remorsefully, and she finally whispered, "Even if it means your life?"

"If it comes to that, yes," he said softly, looking away from her. He didn't want to see the pain in her eyes, though he couldn't block out the small sob that broke from her throat.

He hated hurting her more than he already had tonight, but an illusion of hope would be far worse in the end.

"It may not even happen, Hermione," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "You said yourself, we'll find another way, and besides, everything had changed now with Draco a part of our side. It's not worth dwelling on something that may never come to pass."

"I just seem to have so much time to dwell on it, though," she said. "I'm always busy, but there's always time to think. You're never in the lab when I'm brewing, so I can't talk to anyone. I can't help but let my mind wander to whatever is bothering me. I can't talk to Harry; one minute he's depressed and the next he's in a fit of anger, so I never know how to approach him. I feel like he's holding himself together because everyone else around him is, because he doesn't want to be the first to break, and so if I fall apart, so will he."

"I just can't keep it together anymore, though," she went on, her voice catching on a sob. "I hardly see you these days, either. I know it's selfish of me, but this time with you is the only time I can _stop_ worrying for a while. It helps that you let me just prattle on about all my worries for a while even if you can't do anything about them, but now that you're so busy with Malfoy and the Wolfsbane, there's hardly time for me to see you at all. I feel as though I'm being pulled in every direction – I know I'm not the only one, but I seem to be the only one who can't handle it. I want to see you, but there's no time, and I want to help Harry, but he doesn't want to listen. There are still the NEWTs, though they seem such a folly amongst everything else, and I can't neglect my Head Girl duties or my other friends..."

"There isn't time for even just... this," she said finally. "And I need this."

Hermione buried her head against him again, and he felt the warm wetness of her tears soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He berated himself for not realising how much of a toll everything was taking on her; how could he not have noticed? She was more heavily involved – would be more affected – by this war than possibly any of them, because she had the most to lose. Her two best friends would be at the front line of whatever climax the war finally reached, not to mention all her other friends and acquaintances at school and in the Order. And then there was him, her... whatever he was to her. Everyone she knew about or cared for would be involved in some way. Was it any wonder, as the end drew nearer, she was beside herself with worry?

"I think we're all rather ragged around the edges at the moment," he murmured eventually. "It is unforgivable of me to neglect you as I have, after all you've done for me. If anything, you've been keeping _me_ sane these past few months, and I am appalled with myself that I did not think to return the favour."

She shook her head against him. "You weren't to know. I wanted to come and talk to you, but I didn't know if you'd be busy, or if Malfoy would still be here..."

"You don't have to stay away each time Draco is here, you know," he said. "Much of the time we are merely talking, and many of the things I am telling him you already know of, anyway."

She didn't say anything, and the thought occurred to him that perhaps she didn't want the Head Boy to see her with him in case he realised the extent of their relationship.

"Unless," he added after a moment, "you're concerned Draco might discover our... feelings... for one another."

"No!" she exclaimed, sitting up and fixing him with a startled look. "I mean... I thought you might not want him to know."

"I see no need to voluntarily offer such information," he said cautiously, "but I would not deny it if he were to ask."

She nodded, but then bit her lip, still looking uncomfortable.

"It's just..." she added finally, "I don't know how Malfoy would react, and I wouldn't want him to think what Goyle said that first time... that I'm just..."

He cut her off before she could finished the sentence, recalling the insinuation the wayward Slytherin had made all those months ago, and grasped her shoulders tightly.

"Never say that," he hissed, eyes flashing. "You insult me and degrade yourself, and what we have is _nothing_ like that. _Nothing_."

"I know, I know that," she said quickly. "I just don't want him to get the wrong idea after what he heard me say to you the night he followed me."

Frowning in thought, Snape recalled her... well, it really was nothing short of a carefully-worded proposition... when she had appeared in his sitting room that night, unaware of Malfoy close behind her. Strange, he thought now, that the Slytherin hadn't mentioned it.

"I think," he said at length, "that Malfoy was too shocked by the discovery I was still alive to even register what you were saying."

"I thought that, too," she said uncertainly, "but he must have realised something is going on."

"If you believe it will help, I will talk to Draco," he offered. "It is, perhaps, better that he is told now, rather than finding out of his own accord in the future."

"What will you tell him?"

He eyed her for a moment. What would he say? _Draco, I'm in love with the Head Girl, Dumbledore knows and doesn't care, and you interrupted what was promising to be a most pleasant night when you followed her?_

He snorted inwardly. Admitting it in his head was easy enough, but how could he explain it to anyone else when hadn't even said the words aloud to her?

Perhaps this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.

Realising Hermione was still waiting for an answer, he simply said, "Only what I must; details are not his concern."

She nodded in agreement, and then settled back against him with a soft sigh. He resumed rubbing slow circles on her back; it was as soothing for him as it was for her, and after a few minutes he realised how much he, too, had missed this quiet time. There was no need to speak, nothing that needed to be done immediately... they could both just _be_.

The peace and quiet didn't last long, though, and after some time a shrill, magical alarm sounded from the next room. Snape cursed softly and tried to work out how best to extricate himself from her embrace.

"What was that?" she murmured, clearly not wanting him to leave.

"I'm sorry, I have to see to the potion," he said, managing to stand up and smooth the wrinkles in his shirt. On second thought, he held out his hand to her and said, "Come."

"What?"

"We haven't finished our discussion," he said, "and I won't have you soiling my pillow anymore if I leave you to your morose thoughts."

She looked at the wet patch and smiled sheepishly, but took his proffered hand and allowed him to pull her up and lead her out into the other room.

Once in the lab, Snape guided her to sit on the stool at the opposite end of the workbench from where the cauldron sat, and then moved around the bench to the already-prepared ingredients.

She turned her head aside and wiped away the remains of her tears as he stirred the steaming cauldron half a dozen times and then reached for the closest ingredient. Hermione was watching interestedly, and he realised he had the perfect opportunity to distract her from her thoughts.

"Moon sugar," he said suddenly, holding up the phial after he had added the contents to the cauldron. "Added in an infusion of pomegranate juice. Why?"

"I, uh..." she faltered, searching for the answer.

"Quickly," he said, making steady revolutions with the glass rod. "The next ingredient is added in twenty-eight stirs."

One eye on the potion, he watched as she thought back through the thousands of potions ingredients and their properties she had learnt from him in the past seven years.

"Moon sugar lengthens the efficacy of whatever it's added to, but the acidic properties drain the endurance of the drinker," she said finally. "The pomegranate juice is alkaline, so it will neutralise that effect but still allow the potion to last longer."

"Very good," he murmured, reaching for the next ingredient. She leant forwards, trying to catch a glimpse of what the darkened jar contained in order to anticipate his question, and he smirked. The distraction from her thoughts was clearly working.

"Wickwheat," he said. "Forty-three stirs. Chopped or sliced?"

She had more time to think on that one. It was a lesser known ingredient, though, and after thirty stirs with no viable answer, she guessed, "Sliced?"

He raised his eyebrows in askance for a more complete answer, and she shook her head. "I don't know."

"Wickwheat," he lectured, "primarily restores health and fortifies willpower, but in larger quantities it has been known to cause paralysis, which would be fatal during a transformation such as the one the werewolf undergoes. By slicing instead of chopping, the portions are thinner and all but absorbed by the time the brewing process is complete, with only the more prominent – positive – properties withheld."

By the time only a single ingredient remained on the workbench, Hermione had moved to the stool next to him so she could better see what the reaction of the potion was each time he added something new. He questioned her on each and every ingredient, and she commented that it was far better revision for her Potions theory NEWT than any of the reading she had been doing.

"Hypha facia," he intoned, scraping gills from the underside of the mushroom-like fungus into the cauldron. "More commonly known as Bungler's Bane. One hundred stirs."

Hermione frowned, watching the potion slowly darken to a charcoal grey as he stirred. He could almost hear her mind working to find the answer. Halfway through the required number of stirs, though, she gave up with a sigh and looked to him for an explanation.

"Any white flesh of the fungus is deadly," Snape said. "The gills, however, exhibit less potent effects. They drain strength and speed, and increase fatigue."

"But..." Hermione furrowed her brow in thought. "Increasing fatigue won't be viable if the potion is to last longer, will it?"

Snape shook his head. "As a property of the original Wolfsbane, the purpose of the hypha facia was to subdue the transformed wolf into slumber for the duration of the night. _This_ potion, when charmed, disperses itself throughout the body evenly over the period of a month. The drinker will likely feel some fatigue at all times, though nothing that should impede everyday activities, since the same quantity of the fungus is dispersed over that longer period of time."

"Why add it at all," she questioned, "if that's its only purpose?"

Instead of answering, though, Snape held up his hand to silence her. This was a crucial stage of the brewing and had to be absolutely precise. In the space of a bare instant, he stopped stirring at precisely the northern point of the cauldron, doused the flames underneath with his wand, and cast a modified stasis spell over the steaming brew.

"That is all I can do tonight," he said. "The potion must rest for forty-eight hours before I can add the last round of ingredients and work the charms."

He watched as her brow furrowed in thought again, and waited until she formed her thoughts into words.

"This is the Wolfsbane, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"I thought you could only brew it on a certain night... Tuesday just past, if I remember from last month?"

"I seem to have discovered a way around that," he explained as he cleared away the empty phials. "A cheat, of sorts. The only element of the potion which requires preparation on that exact night is the moon sugar infusion, and the other alterations I have made this month require the two days' rest time before the final charms are worked. I made another batch of last month's variation on Tuesday night, though, in case this one is unsuccessful."

"Oh."

He closed the door to the cabinet after putting away the phials, and turned to regard her. She, too, had turned on her stool and was leaning back against the workbench, watching him.

"Now," he said softly, folding his arms across his chest in what he hoped appeared a casual way. "That discussion we were having. I believe there is one... topic... we haven't addressed yet."

She fixed him with a look of mild confusion, though he suspected it was feigned, as she suddenly began twisting her hands together in her lap.

He moved closer to her, stopping only when her knees were a hairs-breadth from his thighs, and waited until she looked up at him.

"Hermione, what do you want?"

It was the only way; he needed to ask, he _needed_ to be sure... and he _wanted_ to hear it from her.

"We don't have time for what I want," she murmured softly. His hand came under her chin for a moment to tilt her head so she could meet his eyes.

"Then we will make time," he said firmly.

"What about Draco? He needs you."

"And you don't?" he countered.

"He's more important," she conceded. "I can't expect you to devote time to... to me when there is so much at stake. I'm not that selfish and I... just forget-"

He favoured her with a reproachful look. "I will not forget it, Hermione. Do you honestly think _I've_ forgotten the purpose of your visit the night Draco followed you?"

She blushed and looked away, but he would not be deterred now. He had to know.

"What should have happened that night has been playing on my mind almost constantly."

Her gaze snapped back to his, clearly not expecting him to make such a pronouncement. Her eyes were suddenly alight with hope, though, and he saw her swallow before she asked, wide-eyed, "It has?"

He nodded, chuckling softly, and then raised one finger to slowly trace her bottom lip. He saw her eyes darken and a flush creep up her cheeks, and then he lowered his lips to hers, his tongue gently following the path his finger had traced moments before.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered in her ear when he drew back.

Their faces were inches apart, and he saw her lick her lips unconsciously. She drew a shaky breath and finally met his eyes; the mixture of desire and shyness in her own was endearing.

"Just... just to be with you, Severus," she whispered, her gaze dropping from his as a flush crept up her cheeks again.

He dropped his hands from her back to brace either side of her on the workbench, inadvertently moving even closer to her as he did so. It might have appeared suggestive, but he suddenly found he needed the extra support to remain steady on his feet.

When was the last time someone had said that to him? He could barely remember, and never had it been said in such a shy, unassuming and yet hopeful way.

Her innocence was a part of what had been holding him back for so long, unwilling to make the first move lest his forwardness drive her away. Now, though, it seemed that innocence was to be his undoing.

"And I you," he finally managed to respond, feeling her tighten the embrace even as he spoke.

After a moment, though, she sighed and drew back from him again, regret clear on her face.

"I just wish we had time," she said softly. "I feel so self-centred even thinking about such a thing, but I don't want to push it aside."

"Nor should you have to," he said. "We are only human, Hermione, and in the current circumstances our needs and wants matter just as much – if not more – than were things different and... normal. We appear to have established tonight that we need – and want - each other, and that we have both been holding back."

She nodded, and he gently took her chin in his hand once more.

"Therefore," he said, feeling her breath on his face as she exhaled shakily, "we will make time."

He felt her shiver as she held his gaze. There was nothing more he wanted at that moment than to pick her up from the stool and take her to bed, but he held his impulse in check. She was still overwrought tonight, had class tomorrow, and he was tired. They had waited this long; one more night would be a small price to pay to finally be together.

"In fact," he continued aloud, "even without this conversation, I was hoping I would be able to spend some time with you tomorrow evening. The potion will still be resting, and Draco has other commitments with the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw on Saturday."

"What about Professor Dumbledore?"

"I will tell him," he said with a smirk, "that short of Voldemort himself storming the castle tomorrow night, if he values my contribution to this war, he will not disturb me."

She laughed, and though the threat was in jest, he would make sure the Headmaster did not disturb his evening.

"Is that... acceptable?" he asked, raising one eyebrow as she blushed hotly again and looked away.

She nodded, her eyes flickering back to his, darker than usual, as she said, "Tomorrow night, then?"

Severus Snape wasn't known for expressing himself verbally at the best of times, and so, murmuring, "Tomorrow night," he lowered his lips to Hermione's again in a kiss that promised more than words ever could.

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**To be continued**

_A/N: _Finally!_ I hear you say. It's about time, isn't it? Unless Voldemort storms the castle, of course... oh, come on. Would he be that brazen, and would I be that cruel:P_

_Moon sugar, wickwheat and hypha facia (Bungler's Bane) are potion ingredients from the The Elder Scrolls: Morrowmind_

_Eternal gratitude to Potion Mistress for her awesome beta-reading skills. This story is so much better because of her input._

_The next chapter I post here will be somewhat edited, since the complete version would be pushing the maximum rating allowed on this archive. If you're interested in reading the full (uncut – lol) version, you can find it at OWL right now._

_Edit 15/1 - if anyone is wondering why you received an update alert for Chapter 37... it's here. I can see it in my account, but apparently it takes '15 minutes' for a new chapter to appear to everyone else. Funny... that was 14 hours ago. I'm trying to upload it again, so if you get another alert and the same result... sorry! (The next two chapters are on OWL now, if that helps)  
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	37. Maybe Tonight

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_A/N: As previously mentioned, this is an edited version of the full Chapter 38 which is currently posted at OWL and will appear on Ashwinder when I reach this stage of the story there. The full version may or may not be pushing the M rating, but I'm not willing to take the chance. Authors have been banned for far less, and in my experience, it's better to be safe than sorry._

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**Chapter 37**

Hermione returned to her room late on Thursday night, her body thrumming with a delicious mixture of nerves and anticipation. She had seen in Severus' eyes the same desire she felt, but she also understood the value of waiting until tomorrow night. They had finally managed to be alone for a significant length of time tonight, without interruptions, but neither of them – especially her – had been in the right mindset to take things further then and there, no matter how much they both wanted it. Hermione fully believed his promise that there would be no interruptions the following night, and she had the feeling it might just prove to be one of the longest days of her life. When she finally managed to fall asleep back in her own room, her dreams were filled with his hands, reaching out but always stopping just short of touching her.

As Friday progressed, Hermione's nerves seemed to be getting the better of her. Her first class of the day, Defence Against the Dark Arts, had proven a welcome distraction; the defensive spells they were practicing required all her concentration. Arithmancy, just before lunch, wasn't so engaging, and while Hermione had always enjoyed the subject, Professor Vector's revision lecture seemed monotonous this particular day, allowing her mind to wander back to her discussion with Severus the previous night.

By the time the lunch hour came around, Hermione didn't think she could concentrate through her afternoon class, especially since it was Potions. Severus might not be teaching it any longer, but memories of him still lingered in the classroom, and Hermione knew she wouldn't hear a word of Dumbledore's theory revision when all she could think about was the smooth, deep tones of her former teacher's voice.

She was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, gazing blankly at the plate of sandwiches before her, when Ron and Harry plonked themselves down either side of her.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Ron asked, staring at her when she didn't acknowledge them immediately.

Harry followed his friend's gaze, scrutinizing Hermione with something of a frown on his face.

"You look a little flushed," Harry said. "Not sick, are you?"

Hermione flushed even more at the fact they had noticed, but managed to say, "Yeah, I don't feel very well, actually. I think I might see if Madam Pomfrey can give me something."

She was hungry, actually, but she ignored the sandwiches and stood up to leave.

"Harry, if I'm not in Potions this afternoon could you tell Professor Dumbledore I wasn't feeling well, please?" She felt slightly guilty about feigning illness, but it was only revision, and after spending so much time with the former Potions master, it was the one class she could actually afford to miss.

Her dark-haired friend nodded, reaching for a sandwich himself as he echoed her thoughts, "It's only revision, anyway, and I'm sure you know it."

She laughed half-heartedly and left her friends to their lunch. For a moment, Hermione considered actually going to the Hospital Wing, but she knew a Stomach-Calming Draught wouldn't do anything for nerves. The most inviting thing she could think of at that moment was a long, hot shower in the privacy of her own bathroom.

Back in her room, Hermione shrugged out of her school robe and grimaced down at the conservative blouse and skirt. She wore her school robes when she brewed sometimes, but she would have to change tonight. She knew it bothered Severus that she would still be his student if circumstances were different. She knew, too, had that been the case, he would never have crossed the line of impropriety after their first, unexpected kiss.

Despite an assurance that he didn't dwell on what might have been, Hermione had noticed he was seldom as demonstrative of his feelings for her when she was wearing her uniform as the nights she changed into her casual clothes.

A shower did calm her nerves considerably, and it gave her time to think. She couldn't quite work out _why_ she was so nervous about the approaching evening; yes, it was new territory for her, so to speak, and although she knew what to expect, she didn't know what Severus expected of _her_.

She assumed he knew she was a virgin, though they'd never actually broached the subject directly. She might be lacking as far as her own experience went, but she had heard the gossip and read as many teenage magazines – both in the wizarding world and the Muggle one – as any other eighteen-year old girl... _woman_, she corrected herself mentally. Just because she preferred her textbooks over said gossip didn't mean she hadn't been curious, and the Hogwarts library was a wealth of information on almost anything, if one knew where to look.

Rinsing her hair and combing her fingers through the last of the tangles, the fleeting image of Severus standing under the warm spray of his own shower came into her mind again, as it had that morning in his quarters not even a week ago. She pushed it aside, turned off the taps with a growl and stepped out into the middle of the room.

As she reached for her wand to cast a drying charm, she caught sight of her foggy reflection in the mirror above the sink. On impulse, she reached out and wiped her hand across the glass until her reflection came into focus, and then stood back, head cocked to one side in a silent appraisal of herself.

The mirror remained silent; one thing she could never get used to in the wizarding world was talking mirrors in bathrooms. It just seemed... wrong... and so, at the beginning of the year, she had asked Professor McGonagall if she might exchange the very talkative mirror in her new bathroom for a plain Muggle one.

She had realised some weeks ago that there were no magical mirrors anywhere in Snape's quarters... luckily, too, she thought, after seeing him take out his anger on _his_ bathroom one a fortnight ago.

Staring into her own mirror, she bit her lip in contemplation, and the young woman looking back at her did the same. She was average in almost every way; medium height, her plain brown eyes and ever-frizzy hair. She was a bit on the thin side, a few of her ribs visible beneath the skin, her stomach was flat and her breasts were smallish, she supposed, but they suited her small build.

Severus would be seeing her like this tonight. What would he think?

The faded white scar across her collarbone from the fight in the Department of Mysteries seemed to stand out, the rest of her skin flushed from the hot water and steam. That was one thing she didn't have to worry about Severus being repulsed by; he had enough scars of his own and, if anything, it would be _her_ reassuring _him_ she found nothing distasteful about them. They fascinated her in a strangely morbid way, and she had often found herself having to consciously pull back from touching them.

She fingered the rune pendant hanging around her neck, the Christmas gift from her parents. She never took it off these days, not even to shower or sleep. It wasn't that she was superstitious of removing it and forfeiting whatever alleged protection it might offer; she knew there was no real magic in the Muggle-made necklace, but wearing it all the time gave her a sense of well-being, nonetheless, and a closeness to her parents, too. It was one of the few things they had given her that she still had possession of, after their house had been destroyed at Christmas.

Absently casting a drying charm and reaching for a hair elastic to tie back her half-dried mass of curls, she wondered what her mother would think if she knew what had happened between her daughter and the ex-teacher who had saved their lives at Christmastime?

Her mother had been perceptive enough back then, deducing Hermione's growing feelings for her teacher before she had even recognised them fully herself, and so she probably wouldn't be surprised to learn how far those feelings had progressed. The age difference wouldn't bother her mother either, Hermione knew; her maternal grandmother was almost twenty years younger than her grandfather, an even greater relative age gap in the Muggle world, where life expectancy wasn't as long. Her father, on the other hand, might not be so readily accepting; he was strict, but fair, and fiercely protective of his only daughter.

She sighed. There was no point thinking too much on that now, anyway. With her parents in hiding and a very uncertain future ahead of them all, who knew whether she would ever even need to explain to her parents how she had fallen in love with her former teacher.

Turning her mind back to the present, Hermione padded back into her bedroom and opened her underwear drawer, frowning at the haphazard jumble of white, black and pastels. She had never paid much attention to what they looked like before; she was the only one who saw them, after all, and comfort was of greater concern than appearance.

Now, though, she wished she had paid more attention and chosen for the look rather than practicality from time to time. None of the plain cotton knickers in front of her were even remotely enticing, and nor were the plain, matching bras on the other side of the drawer.

Somewhere in her mind, it occurred to her that Severus wouldn't care what she was wearing, but that didn't stop her from wanting to have something a little different... special, perhaps... for tonight.

Struck with sudden inspiration, she turned to her desk and rummaged in the top drawer for a moment. Finding what she was looking for, she sat down on the edge of her bed to flip through a catalogue of Gladrags Wizardwear she'd picked up while Christmas shopping in London. Most of the products were too expensive for her budget, but she could more easily Transfigure something if she had a picture to work from.

She found three pages filled with underwear, from the mundane to the completely ridiculous. Scowling at the scantily-clad witch modelling one of the more provocative designs in the middle of the page, she picked up her wand in one hand and a pair of plain, black cotton knickers in the other.

Frowning in concentration, she spoke a series of spells to alter their appearance. The material turned to a shiny satin, then lace as she spoke another spell. Shaking her head, she finally ended up with a mixture of satin and lace which she was happy with.

Setting the knickers on the bed beside her, she plucked a similarly mundane black bra from her drawer and set about Transfiguring it to match.

A few minutes later, satisfied with their appearance, she slipped them on, surprised to discover they were just as comfortable as the plain cotton ones she was used to. The rest of her clothes were easy, she discovered upon opening her wardrobe. As long as she wasn't in her uniform, she was sure Severus wouldn't have cause to complain. Passing over her favoured jeans, she instead chose a pair of black pants and a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt. Even at the end of April, it still wasn't warm in most parts of the castle, though the thought crossed her mind she might not be wearing the shirt for long, anyway.

Laughing softly at herself, she slipped on a pair of socks and comfortable shoes and tossed her plain, black robe on over the top of her other clothes.

It was only just after three, she discovered upon glancing at the clock. Should she go down to Severus' quarters now? She didn't want to appear so eager, but she could always spend a few hours brewing... if she could concentrate.

Yes, she decided. Anything was better than staying in her room until dinnertime; she wouldn't be able to study, and she would only end up worrying further about the evening, what she was wearing, or some other insignificant detail.

Walking back into the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and took one last look at her reflection. Immaturely poking her tongue out at the apprehension she could see in her own eyes, she turned on her heel, stowed her wand in the pocket of her robes and Flooed to Severus' quarters.

As he often seemed to be, Severus was sitting at his desk, sheaves of parchment spread out before him when she stepped from the fireplace. He looked up, surprised, and then nodded approvingly at her non-school robes. Glancing at the clock on the mantle behind her, though, he frowned.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" he asked.

"I should," she said hesitantly. "I sort of... skipped Potions."

"You _skipped Potions_?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows. The irony that it was _his_ subject she was missing wasn't lost on her, and she bit back a laugh.

"Well, it's only revision," she said quickly, "and you can't say I don't know the subject."

He smirked but didn't comment.

"I thought I'd do some brewing, if that's all right with you," she went on. "Madam Pomfrey mentioned she'd like to have a few doses of a slightly stronger Calming Draught on hand; with NEWTs and OWLs approaching so quickly, I think some of the more unprepared students are starting to panic."

"Do you have everything you need?" he asked, shuffling through one pile of parchments to find a buried book.

"I think so, although she didn't say specifically which potion she wanted."

"There's a book on my desk in there," Severus said, waving one hand towards the lab door as he flipped through the book he had just uncovered. "Page one-hundred and ninety-seven, from memory, is the one she wants."

"Thanks," she said. Then, curious, stepped closer to his desk and peered at the open page of the book. "What are you working on now?"

He sat back for a moment, massaging the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

"The potion I was working on last night isn't viable. I'm trying to discover what went wrong."

"Good thing you made another of last month's brew, then," she said, wondering guiltily if her distracting him the previous night had contributed to the failure.

As if sensing her thoughts, he said, "It wasn't anything I did or didn't do; the ingredients were sound, as was the method of brewing. It may be something as simple as an unclean jar I overlooked during preparation, but I wanted to check my calculations to be sure before I attempt it again."

"You can try it again this month?" Hermione asked, surprised. "The full moon is only four nights away."

He gave her a withering and thoroughly deserved look that said he knew perfectly well what stage of the moon cycle they were in, before he explained, "If you recall, I mentioned last night only the moon sugar requires preparation on a specific day. I have enough of that now for several cauldrons-full of the potion, and can brew it at any time. As I said, I have the other brew ready for Lupin and his werewolf counterparts this month, so with the new one I am only concerned at this stage with brewing it correctly. Next month, providing it works, we will be able to test for longevity."

Hermione nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then. Have you eaten lunch?"

He shook his head.

"I'll wait for dinner. Are you eating here tonight?"

"If that's all right," she said, turning back with her hand on the lab door. She could have sworn he smirked as he nodded, but the expression was quickly gone as he turned back to his work.

"Close the door behind you, if you will," he called as she left the room, and she complied, knowing he preferred complete silence when doing Arithmantic calculations.

As Hermione closed the door, she leant back against it for a moment and took a deep breath.

_Honestly,_ she scolded, _what were you expecting? _Had she thought he would take her to bed immediately, in the middle of the afternoon, or push her back on his desk and ravish her on the spot? _Did I want him to do that?_ she thought with a shiver.

Pushing away from the door, she growled softly at the voice in her head chanting, _Yes, yes, yes._

Resolutely ignoring it, she retrieved the book from Severus' desk, found the potion on the page he had mentioned, and set about making it. Despite the nerves and anticipation still hanging at the back of her mind, she managed to concentrate and time passed quickly. It was almost six in the evening when she next looked at the clock by the door, and just past the hour by the time she had bottled the completed potion and cleared her workspace.

Opening the door quietly in case Severus was still working, she gasped and stepped fully through the doorway, taking in a very different room to the one she had left.

A different _half_ of the room, at any rate.

Severus' desk was nowhere to be seen; in its place sat a small dining table and two chairs, placed parallel to the window so the diners could enjoy the magnificent view of the late April sunset.

Two places were set with silver cutlery, glinting in the soft light of a single candle. The only other light in the room was the fire in the hearth, casting everything in a soft orange glow and deepening the shadows in the far corners of the room.

Hermione saw a movement across the room and turned her eyes to the bedroom door. It was standing ajar, and as she looked into the haze created by the low light, she saw Severus standing there, arms folded as he leant slightly against the doorframe.

"Severus..." she breathed, lost for all other words. Whatever she had been expecting tonight, nothing like this had ever crossed her mind. Severus Snape wasn't a romantic man – it wasn't in his nature; it wasn't who he was, nor someone she ever expected him to be.

The setting laid out before her was simple yet meaningful, and the sight of him standing across the room, dark eyes watching and waiting for her approval, was poignant in a way no flowers, chocolates or declarations of love could ever be.

Realising her hand was still grasping the doorknob of the open lab door, she pulled it closed behind her and stepped further into the room, stopping at the edge of the small table and tracing the shiny handle of a fork with one finger.

"I... I don't know what to say," she finally whispered. "It's... I..."

She broke off again as he, too, crossed the room and stood in front of her, looking vaguely uncomfortable. She noticed he'd changed into a different shirt from the one he was wearing earlier; still black, this one had a row of tiny buttons down the front, and she could count at least twenty just from a glance before the shirt disappeared into his trousers.

"It's not much," he offered with a slight shrug of his shoulders, glancing at the table, "but I... I thought something different might be nice."

Realising his discomfort was due to the lack of reaction on her part, she closed the rest of the short distance between him, put one hand on his shoulder and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly on the cheek.

"It's perfect," she reassured him.

He seemed to exhale a breath, but he didn't meet her eyes, and she pulled back slightly, letting her hand drop to his forearm as she wondered at his unease. The idea that he might be having second thoughts occurred to her... but surely, if that were the case, he wouldn't have gone to such trouble over dinner…

Unless this was his compromise... his way of letting her down gently.

The fear which came with that thought must have shown on her face, because his expression became confused, and he asked, "What is it?"

She bit her lip, looking to the beautifully laid-out table and then back at him with apprehension. Something akin to realisation dawned in Severus' eyes, and he took a small step back, her arm dropping from his altogether this time. He cleared his throat.

"If you're having second thoughts, Hermione..."

He trailed off, and her eyes widened at his misguided assumption.

"No!" she exclaimed. He looked startled at the vehemence of the single word, and she was unable to hold back a short laugh as she realised they had _both_ been mistaken. "I'm not having second thoughts, _definitely_ not... I thought you were!"

He looked at her incredulously. "What could possibly have given you that idea?"

"It's just... not like you," she explained, gesturing to the table. "I thought it might be a compromise because... if you'd changed your mind about what you'd promised last night."

His face darkened for just a moment, and then he took her by the shoulders.

"I haven't changed my mind, Hermione," he said in a low voice, "and what's more, I don't make promises lightly."

Realising she had offended him, Hermione opened her mouth to apologise, but was prevented from speaking even a word by Severus' lips descending upon hers. He kissed her the same way he had the previous night, full of promise and a desire for more. Ending the kiss after far too short a time, though, he pulled her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"You remember," he said quietly, "I told you some time ago it's been a while since I've shared my bed with another. In truth, it's been far too long since I've done any of this... courting" – he grimaced as he failed to find the right word – "I wouldn't even know what you call it these days."

She smiled into the soft fabric of his shirt. Only he could make something as old-fashioned as _courting_ sound appealing.

"Does my being older mean I should have no cause for insecurities? I assure you, there are far more prospective suitors out there for you than there are women queuing outside _my_ door."

She giggled at her mad impulse to go and open the door leading to the outer corridor just to check, but then sobered, perceiving what seemed to be a slight wistfulness in his tone.

Hermione had thought, once or twice, on how hard the last twenty years of Severus' life must have been... not in the sense of his wrong choices and their consequences, but just life as such a solitary man. All men had needs... needs which could hardly be repressed for that length of time. Playing both sides, though, he would hardly have dared get so close to a witch of _either_ loyalty, lest the other side find out and seek to use such closeness against him.

It must have been a terribly lonely existence, she thought, wishing not for the first time that she was older and had been with him for more of his life. It was a ludicrous wish, she knew. Who's to say their paths would have even crossed, had she been born twenty years earlier?

Somehow, the Severus Snape she knew didn't seem like the type of man to resort to using women who would say or do anything for the right amount of gold in their purses. Despite what he had said, she was sure there had been _some_ willing women in his past... she would never ask him, though, and now she thought about it, she wasn't sure she cared to know, either.

His fingers snagging on a tangle in her hair brought her back to the present, and she tightened her arms around him a bit.

"At least you've done this before," she finally murmured, "even if it was a while ago. This is all new to me."

She heard his sudden intake of breath at her finally confirming aloud what she knew he had been almost certain of already. The breath was so soft she might have mistaken it for nothing, had it not been for his hand stilling in her hair at the same moment.

He drew back just far enough to reach up and cup her face in his hands, then, without speaking, leant down to place the softest kiss on each corner of her mouth.

When they parted, he brushed his thumbs across her lips lightly before dropping his hands to rest on her waist. She looked at him curiously, wondering what had prompted such a tender motion.

"I don't think you quite realise," he said, his voice slightly hoarse, "just how much you are giving me."

Hermione found she had no reply to words spoken with such feeling, and she rested her head against his chest again, sighing softly.

She only hoped, inexperienced as she was, that she _could_ give everything he wanted... and everything _she_ wanted to give him.

After some time standing together in silence, she raised her head and said, "So… what happens now?"

"There are no rules, Hermione," he replied with a soft chuckle. "Though, one would think there were, given how we've all but had to arrange a time for this to happen. Now that we are here, though, _without_ interruptions..."

Hermione laughed as he aimed his wand at the fireplace and a dull blue shimmer signalled the presence of a ward. He repeated the action on the door to the hidden corridor and set aside his wand.

"…we can just let the night unfold as it will."

She shivered under the intensity of his gaze and nodded, forcing herself to look away and take a deep, shaky breath.

He stepped back from her then, schooling his face into some semblance of composure.

"Now, are you hungry?"

The nervous energy running through her body meant she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the simple question. Severus, his own eyes lighting up with suppressed mirth as he realised the source of her amusement, amended, "Hungry for _food_?"

Her stomach growled loudly before she could articulate a response, and she blushed sheepishly.

"I'll take that as a yes," Severus said with a smirk. Pulling out her chair, he saw her seated and then took the place opposite. She watched him across the table, his dark eyes reflecting the light of the single candle and setting his pale skin aglow.

"Something to drink?" he asked. Dropping her eyes to his hand, she realised he had the parchment and quill from the mantle.

"Oh, um," she stammered. "I guess pumpkin juice isn't really appropriate, is it? What are you having?"

"I believe red wine will go well with the food I have ordered," he said, scribbling a few words on the enchanted parchment. "You may have some if you wish."

Hermione hesitated. She drank wine at home on special occasions such as Christmas and birthdays, but it always went straight to her head, no matter how much she ate beforehand. She wanted to be herself tonight, in control of what she was doing. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but she wanted to remember every moment.

"Sparkling apple juice, please," she said. It looked elegant, at least.

He wrote on the parchment again, then set it and the quill aside. A moment later, their drinks appeared, and he raised his glass.

"What shall we drink to? A night free from interruptions?" he suggested with a wry smile.

She laughed softly and picked up her own glass.

"How about just to us?" she offered, and he nodded approvingly.

"To us, then," he said, his glass _clink_ing softly as it met hers.

"To us," she echoed, watching him breathe in the bouquet of the dark wine before drinking. She set her own glass down after taking a small sip.

"What are we having?" she asked curiously, eyeing the silver lids covering the plates in front of them.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, picking up his wand again. "I've taken the liberty of ordering the same for both of us."

A murmured word from him saw the lids vanish, uncovering two sumptuous roast beef dinners, complete with crisp vegetables, steaming-hot roast potatoes and a small pot of gravy which appeared on the table between them.

"Wow, this looks divine," she murmured. "How did you know roast beef is one of my favourites?"

He looked surprised.

"I didn't, actually," he admitted, "although I don't know anyone who _doesn't_ enjoy a good elf-cooked roast."

She smiled as she poured a generous amount of gravy over her meal, then passed the pot across to him. Their fingers brushed as the pot changed hands, but perhaps she only imagined the small spark of static electricity which flashed in the air as they touched.

They ate in comfortable silence, for the most part, and Hermione found her gaze often drifting to Severus' fingers. She had studied them before, both with his knowledge and surreptitiously when she thought he wasn't looking. There was something about them which always drew her attention to the long, tapered digits. They were so different from her own small fingers, and she couldn't help but watch in fascination tonight as they wound about his knife and fork, wrapped around the stem of his wine glass and flexed slightly as he rested one hand on the table beside his plate.

If he noticed her scrutiny while he ate, he said nothing. His own gaze wandered often to the window, the darkening grounds and the lights of Hogsmeade in the distance. There was an introspective expression on his face, and she found herself unwilling to break the silence.

He sat back when he finished eating, cradling his almost-empty wine glass in one hand. She put aside her cutlery and took the last sip of her own drink a few minutes later and looked up to find him watching her.

"Would you care for dessert?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Thanks, but I don't think I could eat another thing. That was delicious."

"It was," he agreed, draining the last of his wine and setting the glass back on the table.

Hermione's nerves, which had vanished some time before dinner, returned suddenly now, as she wondered what would happen next.

Severus seemed to sense her sudden apprehension, though, because he stood and extended one hand to her.

"Come," he said. "Let's sit for a while."

She allowed him to lead her over to the couch, and she toed off her shoes and socks and shrugged out of her outer robe so she could curl up next to him. Instead, she ended up lying along the length of the couch with her head in his lap, looking up at him as he wound the fingers of one hand through her hair again. His other found its way to rest on her stomach, the warmth of his palm penetrating the thin fabric of her shirt.

"I've missed this," she murmured, covering his hand with one of hers.

Usually content just to sit, talking or reading or simply lost in their own thoughts, tonight both of them were unwilling to sit idly after the precious little time they'd had together lately.

Severus' hand moved from under hers, finding its way up under the hem of her shirt to stroke the soft skin of her stomach. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of his slightly calloused hand moving over her body, sending delicious tingles of pleasure radiating from every inch of skin he touched.

She squirmed against him when his fingers found a ticklish spot over her ribs, and he chuckled as she pushed his hands away and sat up, kneeling next to him instead. He raised an eyebrow and, on impulse, she moved again, placed her hands on his shoulders for balance and threw one leg over his to sit in his lap.

His eyes darkened at the suggestive pose, and she hid her self-conscious blush by leaning up to kiss him. He murmured something appreciative but incoherent against her lips, and she felt his hands move up under her shirt again. Hermione set about extracting the bottom of his shirt from his pants, eager to feel the smooth skin of his back beneath her hands.

The languid, aimless kissing gradually turned into something more urgent as the need grew in both of them. Somehow, they managed to end up lying side by side on the narrow couch, her back flat against the backrest and the length of his body leaning against her, lest he roll backwards and end up on the floor.

She could feel his hardness against her, and he was making no effort to hide it tonight. Emboldened, she shifted her hips to rub against him, and was rewarded with a deep groan which vibrated through his lips against the skin of her neck and sent a throb of desire down between her legs.

In a sudden shift of reality, Hermione knew what she wanted, and as his mouth moved up to capture hers again, she finally found the courage to ask for it.

Pulling away from his lips for a moment, she whispered, "Take me to bed, Severus."

Another soft groan broke from him, and he buried his head in her neck, his breath like fire on her skin. "Do you know how long I've been wanting to hear you say that?" he said hoarsely.

"As long as I've been working up the courage?" she guessed. "You didn't have to wait."

"I had to hear you say it," he said. "I had to be sure."

She drew back a fraction so she could focus on his eyes; they were dark with a barely contained hunger.

"Are you sure now?" she asked.

"Very," he replied.

Standing up, he extended his hand to her again. Hermione took a deep breath, willing her legs to hold her as she accepted his proffered hand and stood up. He didn't release her as he led her across the room, only dropping her hand when he pushed open the bedroom door and gestured for her to precede him into the room.

Drawing another breath, she stepped past him, over the threshold and into the darkened room.

Hermione jumped slightly as the door clicked shut behind them, and she heard Severus murmur a quiet spell.

The torches in the wall sconces either side of the bed flared to life, throwing a warm orange glow across the room. It looked no different, really, than any other of the countless nights she had stayed with him... but she knew tonight would be different, and that thought saw the nervous fluttering return to the pit of her stomach again.

She bit her lip, feigning interest in the room before her rather than turning back to Severus. After a moment, she felt him step close behind her, and his breath was warm on her neck as he wrapped his arms around her.

"No rules, remember?" he murmured, as though he could sense her sudden tenseness.

She relaxed somewhat just from those few words, and he pushed her hair aside and began to kiss the soft skin of her neck. The patch of skin just below her ear was one of the most sensitive spots on her body; she knew it, and _he_ knew it... and he used that knowledge to his full advantage.

She leant back into him, grasping the arm still clamped firmly around her waist for support as her knees grew weak. Her other hand came up to tangle in his hair, and she pulled his head away from her neck, guiding his lips up to meet her own.

Twisting around in his arms without breaking apart, she traced a path around his lips with her tongue before delving deeper into his mouth. His strong, earthy smell was filling her nose as she breathed deeply, but he tasted like roast beef and the sharp tang of the red wine he had been drinking.

It was intoxicating; the mere taste of the wine was making her head spin... or was that because of the way his own tongue was caressing her lips, tasting her even as she tasted him; the way his hand was splayed across her back, pulling her tightly to him; or the way he was pressed tightly against her, his erection hot and hard between them?

She wasn't even aware they had moved at all until the back of her knees hit something soft, and she realised she was standing beside the bed.

Her hands were still roaming up and down his back, under his shirt which she had finally managed to untuck, but now she wanted to see what she was touching, too. She pulled back from him and reached up to the first, tiny button at the top of the long row on his shirt. Her fingers were clumsy, and by the third button she was quickly becoming frustrated.

"There must be an easier way to do this," she groused. "Why did you have to wear _this_ particular shirt?"

Laughter rumbled up from deep in his chest.

"Just because I enjoy your frustration."

She glared up at him. "It might be more enjoyable for you if I can get it off quickly, you know," she countered.

Her words seemed to have the desired effect, because he pushed her hands aside and reached for the _bottom_ button himself. Undone in an instant, the whole row of buttons fell open at once, and Hermione gaped up at him in astonishment.

"It's a useful trick," he commented, smirking at her stunned expression. "Not many people think to start from the bottom."

"Very Slytherin," she agreed. "I'll have to remember that one."

She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, thankful the charm seemed to have undone the cuffs, too. He caught the shirt in one hand before it fell to the floor, and tossed it behind him, where it landed over the back of the chair by the window, some distance away.

Returning her hands to his bare shoulders, she sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled him closer. He stepped forwards to stand between her parted knees, and she found herself staring at his chest. She traced a finger through the sparse hair over his breastbone, then reached up to circle one of his flat, dark nipples.

A soft gasp came from above as the soft pad of her finger brushed over the small, hard nub, and she grinned to herself, filing the information away for future reference.

She switched to the other nipple, delighted to earn the same reaction. Looking up at his face, her hands stilled, watching him in wonder. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, and his mouth was hanging slightly open as he breathed unsteadily.

Realising she had stopped moving her hands, he cracked one eye open and looked down at her. Swallowing thickly, he said, "It seems you have found my weakness, just as I have found yours."

He raised one hand to lightly touch her neck, and she shivered.

"Now," he murmured, looking down at his exposed torso, and then back at her. "I believe _you_ are wearing far too many clothes for my liking."

Hoisting herself up completely onto the bed, she scooted backwards across it and gave Severus a wicked grin.

"Are you going to do something about that?" she asked, lying back and propping her arms behind her head. Absently, she felt the rune pendant around her neck slip around to her nape, hidden from view.

Narrowing his eyes, he climbed onto the bed, too, moving across on his knees until he was looming over her.

"I believe I might," he said softly, and his eyes locked with hers as he reached for the top button of her shirt.

Not too long after that, Hermione found herself lost in the rush of sensations his mouth was eliciting as it moved over her naked body. His fingers traced the dips and curves of her torso, every invisible path made by the long digits followed by a brush of his lips or a sweep of his tongue.

He shifted back from her then, trailing his gaze down her body, taking in every detail.

Feeling slightly self-conscious, though his gaze was anything but critical, she said, "_Now_ who's wearing too many clothes?"

Raising an eyebrow, he backed off the bed and stood a short distance away. She turned on her side to watch him, propping her head up on one elbow. Her eyes drifted appreciatively over his form, the pale skin set aglow in the soft light from the torches.

She felt she already knew every inch of his upper body, both by sight and touch; the wiry strength of his thin frame, the contour of his flat stomach and the ridges of his jutting ribs... she would never tire of looking at him.

Her breath caught in her throat as his hands moved over the line of buttons on his trousers, and she found she couldn't tear her gaze away as his long fingers undid each one. Slowly, he pushed the trousers down over the plane of his hips and allowed them to drop to the floor. Stepping out of them, he kicked them aside and bent down to remove his socks.

He straightened again, standing before her in only a pair of charcoal grey cotton trunks, which hugged the top of his thighs deliciously and did nothing to conceal what lay in between.

His eyes never left hers as he pushed the trunks down his legs and to the floor. Pushing them aside with one foot as he stepped out of them, he stood before her, proud and unabashedly naked, his arms at his sides.

Hermione swallowed thickly and allowed her gaze to travel slowly down his body, taking in every detail she could in the soft glow that lit the room. She had traced the beginning of the line of hair starting just below his navel before, always stopping where it disappeared into the waistband of his trousers or sleep pants. Now, though, it continued on, and she felt a warmth suffuse her entire body as she saw the evidence of his desire for her.

Forcing herself to look away and meet his eyes, she saw that although they were sparkling with mirth at her appraisal, but nothing could hide the pure need burning in their depths.

"Is everything to my lady's satisfaction?" he enquired, raising one eyebrow.

A cheeky reply, something along the lines of, _Not yet_, crossed her mind, but she found that outwardly she could only nod.

Seeing him – all of him – for the first time made her feel so young and inexperienced again... and inadequate. In a sudden moment of embarrassment, she looked away from him and lifted her arms to cover her exposed breasts.

"Don't."

The single word halted her, and she looked up at him again as he took her arms and pulled them gently down to rest by her sides again.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Hermione; don't hide yourself from me," he said in a low voice. His eyes drifted down from her face again, and she shivered as he traced the underside of one breast with the tip of a single finger.

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes locked with his before he bent his head to kiss her again.

His kisses always had the potential to leave Hermione breathless, but now, with the heightened awareness of skin on skin, she found herself overwhelmed by sensation almost to the point of incoherence. She barely registered them moving back towards the bed until she felt the cool caress of the duvet beneath her and realised she was already lying down.

He had yet to break their kiss, bracing himself above her with one hand and running the other over her body. When his wandering fingers brushed the clasp at the back of her neck, though, and he drew back to concentrate on removing it, she whispered, "Leave it."

"You need protection from me?" he murmured, shifting to lie beside her and pulling her over to face him.

She shook her head.

"I've worn it everywhere since Christmas," she explained softly. "Except for when... well, I got it back after what happened in the dungeons, and I haven't taken it off again."

The warmth vanished from his eyes for an instant, but returned so quickly she thought she might have imagined its absence.

Saying nothing more, he moved his hand to the elastic in her hair, mindful of it frequently snagging in the tangle of curls as he pulled it out. He ran one hand lightly up and down her side from shoulder to hip, gazing at her pensively. She squirmed slightly every time he passed the ticklish spot on her rib, but bit her tongue to keep from giggling under the seriousness of his gaze. She knew, if she was silent for long enough, he would voice whatever was on his mind.

Sure enough, after only a few short moments, he leant over and kissed her forehead, murmuring, "What I ever did to deserve you... I'll never know."

She knew it was a rhetorical question – who would have ever predicted the chain of events which had brought them to this moment? But she still felt compelled to say something.

"You let me into your life," she said softly. "You trusted me enough to let me see beyond the man everyone expects you to be... how could I _not_ have fallen in love with you?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he took her chin in one hand, tracing her lips with his thumb.

"You are..." he began, pausing as he struggled for the right words, "...extraordinary."

She smiled and kissed the pad of his thumb, then leant up to brush her lips on his, softly and tenderly. He embraced her fiercely, deepening the kiss into one of pure longing.

An urgency rose strong in Hermione, and she pulled over him, relishing the warmth and weight of him all but smothering her smaller frame. Somehow he had reached for his wand, and Hermione felt the brief tingle of a contraceptive spell flutter through the pit of her stomach.

Then they were moving together, a momentary stab of pain vanishing as pleasure took its place. She could see nothing but the deep, dark depths of his eyes as she grasp for purchase on his sweat-slicked back.

The musky smell of sweat and arousal, mingled with Severus' own familiar scent was overwhelming her olfactory senses, and she could feel a tightly-coiled sensation building deep within her.

As his movements began more urgent, the pleasant buzzing in her stomach built to a crescendo, her whole body thrumming with the feel of him inside her and all around her.

His breath was coming in sharp grunts in time with his movements, which were becoming increasingly erratic, and his hair was spilling forwards like a dark curtain around his face.

"_Fuck_, Hermione," he groaned, his voice raw with effort and desire, his breath hot on her face.

Somehow, such lewd words falling from his lips proved his loss of control even more surely than his erratic movements, and the thought that she had brought him to the very edge of lucidity sent Hermione to a place far beyond her own.

Her eyes widened, but her vision closed in to pinpoint on his own eyes, so dark she couldn't tell where the pupil finished and the iris began. She heard a voice nearby, but hardly realised was her own, chanting his name over and over.

Then, she could hold his gaze no longer, and let her eyes drift shut as she threw her head back and cried his name aloud.

Through her incoherent haze of feeling, she became aware that he too, was close to the end, and she forced herself to open her eyes again and watch him.

His whole body was slick with sweat, tiny droplets beading across his face as he fought a losing battle to prolong the inevitable.

"Let it go, Severus," she breathed between shaky gasps.

At her words, he did, and the sight of him finally losing control was breathtaking; she could do nothing but stare at him in wonderment as his face contorted into an expression of absolute euphoria.

"Oh, Hermione," he moaned, her name sending an aftershock of pleasure shooting through her body.

His arms were shaking when he collapsed on top of her. He only left his full weight on her long enough to take a deep breath, though, and then gathered her in his arms and rolled over until she was lying half beside and half on top of him, their legs entwined.

Trying to calm her racing heart, she pillowed her head on his chest. A haze of sated, boneless exhaustion was beginning to creep over her, and she found she could do nothing more energetic than trace a lone finger over the sweat-slicked skin near his collarbone.

She could hear Severus' heart thudding beneath her ear and feel the heat radiating from his body. One of his hands was gently caressing her hair as the other draped over her waist, holding her to him in the most intimate of embraces.

"All right?" she heard him murmur lethargically. She had no idea how long they had been laying in silent languor, and she twisted her head up to look at him. His lips were still swollen, his face slightly flushed, and her overwhelming desire to kiss him again was dampened only by the heaviness in her limbs.

"Yes," she whispered, settling for kissing the part of him she could reach, and a tremor ran through his body as she blew softly on the damp skin of his chest.

After some time, Severus roused enough to move again. Retrieving his wand, he cast a quiet cleansing charm, which sent a waft of cool air across her bare skin and caused her to shiver involuntarily. Another soft murmured spell brought the duvet out from under them, and he extinguished the torches on the wall as he set his wand back on the nightstand.

Pulling the duvet up over their legs, he caught her mouth in a soft kiss and then settled back and drew her close again, both of them slipping back into a drowsy afterglow of contentment.

"Severus?" she said after some minutes.

"Hmm?" he murmured, his breath stirring the hair on the crown of her head.

"Can we do that again some time?"

A soft chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest, vibrating against her ear.

"Any time you like, my love."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her hand stilling its light caress of random circles across his chest.

"Say that again," she whispered.

There was a long pause, and then he wrapped one arm more tightly around her back, kissed her forehead and said, "Sleep, Hermione."

She shifted against him, curling one bare leg around his, and then fell into silence and thinking. She knew he loved her, though he had never spoken the words aloud, but had she hoped that tonight might break more than one barrier between them, that he _would_ say it in so many words?

Hermione sighed. He didn't need to say it; if she hadn't known it before tonight, there was no doubt in her mind now. What would words express that their actions tonight couldn't?

Nothing.

Some time later, just as sleep was taking hold, Hermione felt him tighten his arms around her again, and her hair was stirred by a soft exhalation of breath, one she could have sworn concealed two words... "My love."

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed!_

_Eternal gratitude and a blow-up, velour-covered Snape doll to Potion Mistress, the most fantabulous beta I could ever hope for. Without her help, suggestions and encouragement, this story (and particularly this chapter) would be an absolute mess. Remaining mistakes still belong to me.  
_

_I've found myself using song lyrics for chapter titles again, so, before anyone asks, 'Maybe Tonight' is the winner's single from Australian Idol 2005 – one of those wonderfully clichéd power ballads which I secretly play when I think no one else is listening. By complete and utter spooky coincidence – it only occurred to me today – the chorus of Evanescence's Before the Dawn (the song that inspired me to start writing this monster in the first place) says, 'Maybe tonight, we'll fly so far away, we'll be lost before the dawn'._


	38. Darkening Days

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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Snape woke early the following morning and lay still for a moment, marvelling at the feeling of deep relaxation that had spread throughout his body. He felt… free… for want of a better word. Just for one night, and a few spare moments this morning, he could pretend there was nothing else he had to do; no obligation, no expectations… nothing but him and the young witch beside him.

Hermione had shifted during the night and was lying on her back, her head turned towards him. Each exhalation of breath sent a soft, warm puff of air whispering over the bare skin of his shoulder.

The early morning light filtering in past the half-open curtains cast her face in a soft, pale light, and her eyelashes stood out darker against the pale skin of her cheek. After all the time she had spent indoors lately – mostly with him – she was almost as pale as he. Her natural complexion retained a hint of colour, though, the lightest scatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks from a rare moment of sun.

One of her hands was wound in the edge of the duvet, pulled up to cover most of her naked body, but he could see the top of her breasts rising and falling as she breathed. She murmured something unintelligible in her sleep and turned ever-so-slightly towards him; the duvet slipped down, exposing more of one breast.

He licked his lips, unable to tear his eyes from the enticing sight. Finding himself unconsciously leaning towards her, though, he shook himself and reached out to pull the duvet up again, concealing temptation beneath it. The last thing he wanted was for her to catch him ogling her as she slept, and while she has responded to his touch last night with fervour, waking to find him tasting her flesh may not produce the same reaction… yet.

She was so unlike anyone he had ever been with before. The way she had watched him last night with such concentration and intensity – taking in every detail - he could almost see her filing his actions and reactions away in that brilliant mind of hers for future reference. As he had said to her the previous night, she had no idea how much she had given him, and it was far more than he had been meaning when he made that pronouncement before dinner.

At the culmination of last night, he finally understood the joy and pleasure of being with someone he loved, and who loved him in return. Oh, it was probably sentimental of him – she had that effect on him, he had noticed – but for once he didn't care how maudlin he sounded.

The women in his youth had been few and far between, and usually looking for nothing more than a quick shag, still half-dressed by the time it was over. It had been enough for him; when he began playing both sides, he daren't let a witch too close in case they turned out to be either a spy for Voldemort or became a target because of him.

When the Dark Lord had been defeated for the first time, he had been reluctant to change his ways, solitary as his future seemed to be. Somewhere deep inside, he had always known Voldemort's first demise was only a temporary respite, and the uncertainty of when or where the tyrant would return prevented him from any attempt at normalcy in his life. There had been a witch in Hogsmeade he had visited when his needs became persistent beyond that which he could satisfy himself. He refused to think of her as a whore, for no payment had ever passed between the two of them. She was the niece of the apothecarist in the town, often behind the counter when he paid a visit for more ingredients and supplies.

She hadn't been particularly attractive, but nor was he, and she had been intelligent enough. He wondered that he didn't know her from Hogwarts – she was only a few years younger than he - until he discovered she had been sent away to school in Europe. After a visit on a particularly freezing January day, he found himself conversing with her over a drink at the Three Broomsticks. Hours later found them upstairs in bed.

It was good while it lasted. She was lonely; her uncle was a grim, unspeaking old man, and she knew very few people her own age after being away for so long. He saw her twice, perhaps three times a year; there were no expectations, and there was certainly no love. He wondered from time to time whether she offered what he crudely referred to as after-hours service to other apothecary customers? It wouldn't have mattered to him if she did, curious as he was; he had no claim on her, and no desire to hold such a thing.

Three years ago, though, with the threat of Voldemort's return imminent, he had gone to her one last time and told her he would not return. It would be foolish to risk her life for the sake of his pleasure, though he gave no reason to her, and she didn't ask for one.

She had simply laughed. At his astonished expression, she had kissed him on the cheek and said there were plenty more where he came from, and that she was beginning to wonder if he would ever discover there was more to living than his lonely existence.

And now, three years later, he had.

Rolling onto his side to face the sleeping witch, he moved his hand up under the covers to stroke the smoothness of her stomach. He felt an involuntary shiver run through her as his fingers brushed her skin, and he glanced up at her face to see if she was stirring. Her eyelids fluttered, but then she let out a soft sigh and slipped back into sleep again.

He let his fingers travel as far up as the soft underside of her breasts and then withdrew, contenting himself with watching her until she awoke and marvelling over exactly how they had come so far in so short a time.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes to find herself looking into Severus' dark orbs; he didn't react to her, and she realised he was miles away, so lost in his own thoughts he hadn't yet noticed she was awake.

When she moved, though, reaching out to lightly touch his arm, he seemed to snap out of his trance, locking eyes with her as the corner of his mouth curled up in the beginning of a smile.

"Good morning," she whispered, her throat slightly dry and her voice still clouded with sleep.

"Yes, it is," he murmured, and she flushed slightly and ducked her head at the suggestive undertone of his words.

He chuckled softly, and she looked up again as he brushed her hair back from her face, his fingers snagging in a tangle just behind her ears. His face took on a look of concentration as he worked out the offending knot, and then he let his hand travel down to her shoulders and along her arm, rubbing softly back and forth.

Hermione met his eyes again, slightly confused with the thoughtful look he was giving her.

"What is it?"

He let out a sigh and shook his head, a limp strand of hair falling across his face.

"Nothing, really," he said, withdrawing his hand from her arm to push the offending hair back. "Just wondering how I came to be so fortunate in ensnaring you."

She smiled, but then couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. Remembering some of the first words she had ever heard him speak, she joked, "Well, as long as you didn't bewitch me."

He looked vaguely wounded at the insinuation, which only made her laugh even more.

"I'll never forget that speech you made in my first Potions class," she explained. "I was so eager to show you how much I'd already learnt, and first you ignored me, and then you just told me to sit down like I was some silly little girl."

"Hmmm," he murmured with a frown. "Yes, I was particularly poisonous that year, if I recall."

"That year?" she snorted. "How about _every year_? You didn't have to be quite so nasty all the time."

He looked disconcerted, and she realised belatedly that he would probably take her words to heart. He had been playing something of a part even back then - though she didn't doubt his dislike of Harry was real from the start – and she knew he regretted some of the crueller things he had said and done for the purposes of distancing himself from everyone.

"Sorry-" she started to say, but he brushed off her apology.

After a moment of silence, he said, "You are silly sometimes, you know."

"Yes, but I'm no longer a little girl," she returned.

She just managed to stifle a cry of surprise as he pulled her tightly against his body and rolled until she was underneath him, propping himself up with his hands braced either side of her shoulders to avoid crushing her.

"That much I'm certain of," Severus murmured, and he lowered himself over her to claim her lips in a deep kiss.

She clasped her hands around his back and couldn't stop the small whimper of pleasure that escaped her throat. At that moment, Hermione couldn't imagine anything more delightful than the feel of her skin against his, uninterrupted from shoulders to feet… except perhaps for the demanding pressure of his lips on hers… or the feel of him half-hard against her thigh.

Together, they created an intoxicating mixture of sensation that sent shivers tingling down her spine.

When he drew back and moved to lie beside her again, she rolled with him, curling against his side and sighing contentedly. A comfortable silence filled the room, and Hermione could feel, rather than hear, the faint, steady thudding of his heart.

"Can we stay here forever?" she murmured sleepily.

There was a moment of silence, and then she felt the exhalation of his breath across the top of her head as he looked down and said quietly, "If only we could."

"I suppose someone would notice," she said eventually, still reluctant to move.

"I suspect Albus might start to wonder why the Floo is still warded against him if we stayed here all day."

She giggled. "What did you really tell him you were doing last night?"

"Brewing." She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"And he believed you?"

"Of course not," he said derisively. "The old fool smiled and wished me an enjoyable night, and I resisted the urge to strangle him."

Mortified, Hermione sat up.

"He _knows_?"

"Albus is many things, Hermione," he said, "but daft is not one of them. Of course he knows."

She felt her face flush bright red with embarrassment.

"I'm never going to be able to look him in the eye again," she complained.

"You've stayed the night before and he hasn't said anything," Severus reminded her. "Why would he now?"

"He didn't _know_ about all those other nights! And besides, last night was… different…"

"I daresay he's always known when you've stayed the night, Hermione," he reasoned. "If I didn't have more respect for the cunning old man, I'd say he's found a way to watch everything that goes on in this castle."

"Oh, I did _not_ need to hear that, Severus," she said, the thought of _anybody_ else seeing what had taken place last night causing her face to suffuse with heat instantly.

"I'm only joking, Hermione," he laughed. "Besides, if he _is_ watching, you're giving him quite the show at the moment."

Looking down, she realised her upper half was completely exposed, showing Severus – and hopefully _only_ Severus - everything; he seemed to be enjoying it, too, if the look on his face was any indication.

"Thanks for telling me," she muttered sarcastically, turning away and burrowing down under the covers again.

"I was enjoying the view."

She let out an indignant squawk, and he laughed aloud and pressed a kiss to the still-exposed skin between her shoulder blades. Then, she felt the bed move as he climbed out, and his soft footfalls padding across the room.

Peeking over the top of the duvet, she inhaled sharply, faced with the sight of him standing near the window, back turned, but still without a stitch of clothing. He was retrieving his clothes from where he had thrown them on the chair the previous night, and she took the opportunity to covertly inspect his thin back, well-formed buttocks and long, graceful legs.

When he turned, she quickly ducked her head back under the covers again, peeking again only when she thought he had already disappeared into the bathroom.

Instead, she found him standing in the doorway smirking at her, the shirt and pants draped over one arm concealing absolutely nothing.

"Enjoying the view?"

Realising her mouth was open and her eyes had somehow unintentionally dropped from his face to his groin, she cast him a dirty look and tossed a pillow across the room at him with a loud huff.

She heard his deep chuckle echo in the tiled room as he stepped backwards to avoid the soft missile. He shut the door over, not quite closing it, and then Hermione heard the sound of water hitting the marble floor of the shower.

* * *

It was almost lunchtime when Hermione finally appeared back in the Gryffindor common room, entering nonchalantly from her own room as though she had merely slept in.

She spotted Harry and Ron playing chess in the far corner, and made her way over to them, stifling a yawn as she sat down.

"Ah, look who's finally emerged," Ron said as his knight smashed one of Harry's pawns off the board.

"Feeling better, Hermione?" Harry asked, frowning at the board as he tried to decide his next move.

"What? Oh, yeah, much better," she said, only just recalling her feigned illness from the previous day in time.

"Where were you, anyway?" Ron went on. "We came to check on you after dinner but you weren't answering your door."

She hesitated. "I was, uh, brewing," she said carefully. It wasn't entirely untruthful. She had made the Calming Draught the previous afternoon, and she had been intending to take it up to Madam Pomfrey this morning… that was until she had decided to follow Severus into the bathroom, effectively setting back both their schedules for the day by a good hour or so.

It was his fault, she reasoned, for leaving the door open.

"Right," said Harry, looking at her sceptically. "All night?"

"No, of course not," she said, rolling her eyes. "I was sleeping."

"With him?" Ron asked, nudging Harry and laughing at his apparent joke.

Hermione tried to appear unfazed, she really did, but she couldn't help the blush that spread up her face until her cheeks were flaming hot.

She looked around the room self-consciously, thankful there were only a handful of other students across near the fireplace, and then back at her two best friends.

Ron's eyes widened and his jaw went slack. Harry was a bit slower, looking back and forth between his friends until he finally caught on.

"You didn't…" he finally managed.

Hermione closed her eyes, waiting for the explosion. Instead, she felt one of them grab her hand, and she opened her eyes just as Harry pulled her up from her chair.

"Harry, what-"

Taking a firmer hold on her arm, Harry pulled her across the common room to her doorway and looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to unward and open the door. Ron was close behind them, so she sighed, drew her wand and did so, preceding her friends into the room.

When it was closed firmly behind the three of them, she turned to the dark-haired young man.

"What was _that_ about?"

Harry sat down on the end of her bed. "Well, you didn't want me saying any more out there, did you?"

"What else is there to say?"

"Well, did you?" asked Ron, still leaning against the back of the door. He was watching her with a mixture of curiosity and slight disgust.

"Did I what?" she sighed, moving over to the bed, brushing some stray cat hairs from the duvet and leaning back on the headboard as she regarded her two friends. "If you can't even articulate it, I'm hardly going to tell you anything, am I?"

Ron looked uncomfortable. "We didn't want to be blunt, but… all right, did you… you…" He looked helplessly at Harry, who looked just as awkward, and Hermione threw her hands in the air, exasperated.

"You two are impossible, honestly," she sighed. "Did I sleep in Severus' bed last night? Yes. Was he there? Obviously. Have I done that countless times over the past weeks? Yes."

"That's not what we were trying to ask, Hermione," Harry began.

"I _know_ that," she countered. "What you _were_ asking is really none of your business, but since you're my best friends and we're not in the habit of keeping things from each other…" She took a deep breath. "…the answer is yes."

She winced at the silence that followed. Severus would be incensed when he found out she had told her friends what had happened.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, crossing the room to join the others on the bed. "I know you've been spending a lot of time with him, but…"

"But what?" She folded her arms and waited.

Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged, and then back at Hermione, struggling to find words to express the look of distaste on his face.

"It's still _Snape_," he finally said. "Whatever _you_ call him, that doesn't change the fact that it's still Snape… you know, the greasy g-"

"Don't," Hermione cut him off sharply.

"Okay, so he's not a git," Ron amended, "but he's still greasy."

"Yes, his hair is greasy. So what. Mine is bushy; does that bother you?" she asked, her voice becoming shrill with annoyance.

"No, of course not!" Ron said quickly. "But that's different… you can't help it. I mean, does he even wash his?"

Hermione heard a soft snort from Harry, but that didn't distract her from turning all her ire on her other friend.

"Yes, Ron," she snapped. "He does wash it. Every day, in fact… except for this morning, when _I_ washed it for him. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Harry's snort was louder this time, and Ron paled before turning bright red, his look of disgust turning to one of complete mortification.

"I didn't… I didn't mean to…" He stumbled over his words. "I didn't need to know that, Hermione. I knew you liked him, but…"

"That's what you don't understand. I don't _like _him, Ron," Hermione said. "I like Arithmancy and roast potatoes and cats. I _love_ Severus. Do you see the difference?"

"Between Snape and a plate of nice crispy roast potatoes?" Harry commented. "Yeah, I think I can spot a few differences."

Despite the odd expression still on his face, Ron gave a bark of laughter, and even Hermione couldn't help but smile at the ridiculous comparison. The tension broken, she suddenly realised she wasn't going to have to defend her sanity to her two best friends yet again. Ron still looked distinctly queasy, but as she watched him he seemed to nod and set his jaw, making an effort to conceal his distaste and come to terms with, if not accept, her relationship with the former Potions master.

"And what of us?" Harry asked suddenly. "How do you feel about us?"

"I love you both, too," she assured them. "It's just… it's a different kind of love. You're both like my brothers, though… my wizarding family, if you like."

"Brother, huh?" Ron said, a grin crossing his face. "Does that mean we can hex Snape if he hurts you?"

"Yeah, I think I'd like that," Harry muttered.

Hermione sighed, then. She was pleased – more than pleased, really – that her friends seemed to accept what had happened, but she knew it was too much to hope that Severus and Harry would ever reconcile their differences. Too much animosity existed between them, but she hoped, in time, they might at least work at being civil to one another, if only for her sake; if she had her way, both of them would be part of her life for many years to come.

Seeing her resigned look, Harry said, "We don't have to like him, Hermione. You know I never will, don't you?"

She nodded regretfully.

Harry appeared deep in thought for a moment, and then said, "It's strange thinking about it… but that night I loaned him my Invisibility Cloak, it seemed like I _was_ talking to a different person."

She looked at him curiously.

He sighed. "I don't know… it was just weird. I didn't want to talk to him, but you'd asked me to apologise for you, so I headed down there. On the way, I had this mad idea to offer him the cloak; I thought he hadn't been to the Hospital Wing to see you already because he didn't want to be _seen_ to care, and I was trying to prove it. I thought if he refused the cloak, he really didn't care at all. But then I told him what had really happened, because of course Dumbledore hadn't-" Harry voice grew slightly bitter at those words "-and even though he tried to hide it, I could see he was really worried about you."

"And it's obvious you're happy when you're around him," Ron said. "Merlin knows we all need any happiness we can get these days, and if yours comes from being with him, well, who are we to deny you that?"

Harry nodded in agreement, but Hermione couldn't help but notice he looked rather wistful, too. She smiled at both of her friends gratefully, but couldn't help the guilty feeling which rose in her. Ron was right; they all needed something to distract them from grim reality once in a while, but she feared _nothing_ could do that for Harry now. The end was drawing far too near for him to focus on anything else.

Now she thought about it, this morning was the first time she had seen him smile or laugh in weeks.

"I just wish we could find something for you to be happy about," she murmured, raising her eyes to meet her friend's green ones.

Harry's face darkened.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I don't think that's possible right now. I'll be happy when Voldemort is dead."

She exchanged a frightened look with Ron, disturbed by the steely resolve that had again found its way into Harry's tone.

"It won't be long now, Harry," she said softly, "but please don't rush into a confrontation until you're certain you're prepared."

"Rush into it?" Harry scowled. "I've been waiting my whole life to be rid of him – almost eighteen years! The sooner we're rid of him, the sooner the whole wizarding world can get on with their lives. I'm sick of this waiting!"

He launched himself off the bed to pace across the room.

"The longer we wait," he said in a low voice, "the more people will die. How many people do you think are going to die this coming week in whatever he has planned?"

Ron murmured a sound of agreement, and Hermione looked at him in confusion.

"Haven't you heard?" he asked incredulously.

"Heard _what_?" she asked.

Harry turned to her, looking surprised, too.

"I thought Snape would've told you," he said. "Malfoy's going home again on Wednesday night."

"His mother's birthday, apparently," Ron snorted.

Hermione gaped at her two friends, stunned and slightly hurt that Snape hadn't told her.

"When did you hear about this?"

"Two days ago," Harry said tightly. "Dumbledore is sure something is going to happen, but he has no idea what or where it might be."

Hermione swallowed, disturbed by the thought of Draco going before Voldemort again so soon as much as what he might have planned for that night.

Severus had been working tirelessly with the Head Boy to prepare him as well as he could, but would it be enough? If Voldemort found a way into Draco's mind, the young Slytherin would be dead, Snape's cover blown, and the consequences for the rest of them would be dire.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and hope," she said cautiously.

Ron nodded in agreement, and Harry said, "Yes, but not for long, I hope."

There was silence for a moment as the three of them each contemplated what might happen come Wednesday. Trying to distract herself from the sudden dark turn of the conversation, Hermione thought back to earlier in the morning, when she had first appeared, and realised something.

"By the way, how did you know I didn't just go to bed early yesterday?"

Ron and Harry exchanged guilty looks, and she raised her eyebrows.

"Uh, well," Harry said hesitantly. "You weren't on the Map."

"Pardon?"

"We hadn't seen you since lunchtime yesterday," Ron put on, "and you said you weren't feeling well, so we were worried! When you didn't answer your door last night, we checked the Map to see if you were in there."

Hermione felt her face flushing again. She wondered what time they had checked the Map, and if they had searched beyond her room to discover her whereabouts.

"I cannot believe you did that!" she finally muttered.

"No harm done, 'Mione," Ron said quickly. "We just wanted to make sure you were okay. Why did you go to Snape if you didn't feel well?"

She sighed, buying a moment to collect her thoughts. She felt guilty about lying to her friends, especially after saying only minutes before she _didn't_ keep things from them, but she wasn't about to tell them she skived off afternoon class because she was nervous about the approaching evening. They would never let her forget that.

"I went to Severus for a Stomach-Calming Draught – I made some two days ago for Madam Pomfrey, but hadn't taken it up to the Hospital Wing yet. He insisted I stay until I felt better, but I suppose you already knew that even before you asked me where I was," she finished sarcastically. "I hope you enjoyed the show."

Harry and Ron both went pale, stared at each other and then back at Hermione.

"Oh, as if we would-"

"We didn't see anything!"

She raised her eyebrows again in askance, and Harry sighed, pulling the infamous Marauder's Map from his trouser pocket.

"We weren't watching you on the Map, Hermione," he said, unfolding the parchment and activating it with a quick tap of his wand and the usual words. "We were worried because we couldn't find you."

"Couldn't…?" she trailed off in confusion as he spread the Map out on the bed between the three of them.

Ron pointed to a section, and Hermione followed his finger. She could see the curve of the first floor corridor which led to the Charms classroom, and the tiny circle marking the statue of Ignatia Wildsmith. The door and hidden passage to Snape's quarters were even marked on the Map, but beyond that, the lines and markings faded into a blurry grey cloud on the parchment, broken only by the words, _'Mind your own business!'_ floating in the middle of what would have been Snape's sitting room.

Hermione stared at it in disbelief, then looked at Harry and Ron.

"What…?"

"Trust a bloody Slytherin," Ron muttered. "We couldn't have found you in there even if we wanted to."

Hermione laughed, and the indignant look on Ron's face only made her laugh even harder, until tears were pouring down her face. When she finally managed to compose herself, she felt a little shaky; she couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard, and even though it was a mixture of genuine amusement and slight, panicked hysteria, it felt good to let it out.

"I don't think it was Severus' doing," she finally managed, and proceeded to explain how the quarters had always belonged to the Head of Slytherin, right back to the founding of the school.

"Salazar Slytherin was rumoured to be rather paranoid," she added at their dubious expressions. "I should think he would have placed all sorts of anti-spying enchantments on his chambers; without the Map, though, I doubt anyone these days has realised they're still there."

Harry still looked less-than-convinced, but Ron was staring at her thoughtfully.

"I'll have to tell Severus, though," she said. "He'll get a laugh out of that."

"I'd say he'll be more relieved than amused," Ron said. "That Map could have given away the fact that he's alive if it had fallen into the wrong hands. Maybe the enchantment is Dumbledore's doing; he knows about the Map, after all."

"Good point," Harry added. "It's lucky I don't let the Map out of my sight these days."

Hermione nodded absently, disturbed that she hadn't thought of the Map as a threat to Severus' cover before. Even with the enchantment on his rooms, if anyone managed to see it while he was in the Headmaster's office, they would be in quite a predicament indeed.

She made a mental note to mention it to Severus or Dumbledore. She didn't want the Headmaster to confiscate the Map – surely he would trust Harry to keep track of it at all times – but Pettigrew, although now dead, had known about the Map. What if he had told Voldemort, who then found a way to replicate the magic and pass it on to someone in the castle? Malfoy was the obvious choice, of course, and then they wouldn't have to worry, but there was always the possibility of someone else they _didn't_ know about working against them.

* * *

The rest of the weekend passed quickly; Slytherin flattened Ravenclaw in the Quidditch match on Saturday afternoon, and Hermione had to stop herself cheering when Malfoy made a spectacular dive for the Snitch, swerving just in time to avoid colliding with the goal posts. The win also meant Slytherin would play Gryffindor in the final, to be held in the second week of June.

Ron talked non-stop all the way back to the common room, surmising the best strategies to beat the other team, and even Harry joined in. Hermione listened half-heartedly, her mind on what she would do later that night.

She was surprisingly reluctant to go back to Severus' rooms, though she told herself, now the Quidditch match was over, Malfoy would be spending much time there anyway in the lead-up to his visit home on Wednesday night.

Hermione was slightly annoyed Severus hadn't told her about that, and she was also unsure of what would happen when she next shared his bed. Did he expect what they had done the previous night to happen every time, now? Did _she_ expect that? Could she lie beside him and not think about that?

Along with her uncertainty, as the night progressed she found Harry and Ron covertly glancing at her when they thought she wasn't looking. It was almost as though they were waiting for her to stand up and announce she was going to bed. She wouldn't put it past Harry to check the Map when she _did_ retire for the night, to see whether she remained in her own room.

She was starting to think that Dumbledore confiscating the Map mightn't be such a bad thing.

It wasn't like she had anything to prove to them… perhaps she was trying to prove to herself that nothing had changed, that she could still spend a night talking in the common room with her friends until well past curfew, and then curl up in her own bed, alone.

Whoever she was trying to convince, she finally did retreat to her own room just after midnight, and didn't realise how tired she was until she fell asleep soon after that, only waking again with the morning sunlight streaming in through her window.

* * *

She had been spending Sunday afternoons in Severus' lab for months, so Harry and Ron didn't blink when she parted ways with them after lunch. They went upstairs to retrieve their brooms for some Quidditch practice, and Hermione made her way down the first floor corridor.

Malfoy was there when she entered the sitting room, and both men stopped their conversation and turned to her as she closed the door.

"Sorry," she said. "Don't let me interrupt. Is it all right if I work in the lab?"

"Of course," Severus said, maintaining a rather indifferent expression on his face, which led Hermione to believe he hadn't yet discussed anything about her with the Slytherin.

She crossed to the lab, its door ajar, and slipped through, leaving it partially open as it had been.

As she unwarded the ingredients cabinet, though, and stood perusing the contents, someone closed the door completely, blocking out all sound from the other room.

Hermione frowned, her annoyance at him keeping Draco's Wednesday night excursion from her increasing slightly.

She had calmed down somewhat by the time Severus entered the lab almost two hours later, but she still didn't speak as he came over, glanced in her cauldron, and then picked up a spare knife to cut up the final ingredient while she stirred the potion the required number of times. Hermione could feel his eyes on her, and finally she broke the silence.

"Have a nice chat?" she asked coolly, and he stopped, knife in hand, to regard her with a surprised expression.

"Is something wrong?" he finally said.

"Is there some reason you felt compelled not to tell me about Wednesday night?" she countered, still not looking at him.

He looked startled, then realisation crossed his face and he murmured, "Potter."

"Yes, of course Harry told me," she snapped. "We're _friends_; we don't keep things from one another very often."

Pushing the board of chopped ingredients towards her, he pulled out a nearby stool and sat down with a sigh.

"I didn't want to worry you," he said simply, returning her accusing gaze with an even look.

"You don't have to protect me, Severus."

"I wasn't trying to," he said. "I meant to tell you on Thursday night; I had only just learnt of it myself, and I'm afraid to say it was part of the reason I so unjustly snapped at you. When I finally did have a chance to tell you, you were already upset, and I was reluctant to add another burden to your shoulders."

She looked away guiltily; she should have known he would have had her best interests at heart. Still, it hurt to have had to find out from Harry and Ron; now she knew how Ron must have felt being left in the dark earlier in the year.

"You could have told me yesterday morning," she offered.

"Yes, I could have," he conceded. "However, if case you'd forgotten, I had other things on my mind."

She smiled, then.

"Sorry, I just got a bit defensive, and then when you shut the door…"

"The reason I shut the door," he said, "is because your arrival reminded me I had promised you I would discuss our relationship with Draco. I didn't think it prudent to do so within your hearing, in case his reaction was less than favourable."

"And was it?" she asked, suddenly feeling worried.

Snape eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, and an odd look flitted across his face.

"It was quite surprising, actually," he mused.

When he didn't elaborate immediately, she prompted him, "Well?"

"His exact words were, 'I'm not stupid, Severus. Good for you.'"

Hermione gaped at him, and he nodded.

"Wow," she commented. "I thought he would have been angry to realise you're spending time with me when all your time could be spent tutoring him."

"No, he just shrugged and said something about everyone needing time for themselves."

Hermione considered that while she bottled her potion, and then her thoughts turned back to her earlier musing… what he expected of her now.

Coming back over to the bench after putting the potion flasks in the cupboard, she began hesitantly, "Severus, is it… is it still all right for me to stay with you some nights, even if we… we don't…"

She looked up, hoping he had gleaned the meaning of her stuttering without needing further explanation. For all she had snapped at Ron earlier for not speaking plainly, she found she still had trouble articulating some things around Severus… some certain things.

He huffed out a short laugh and slid off the stool, coming around behind her and wrapping his arms around her middle.

"As much as I would like every night to be as thoroughly delightful as Friday," he murmured close to her ear, "I fear we are already both stretched far too thin to maintain such a… demanding schedule."

She laughed sheepishly, feeling silly for even asking. "I know, I'm sorry... I didn't mean for this to be awkward now," she admitted. "I just wasn't sure what... well, what you'd expect, I suppose."

"I expect nothing, Hermione," he said seriously, turning her around to face him. "I want only what you wish to give me."

She wanted to tell him he could have anything and everything he wanted, but didn't he know that already? Did she really have to confirm it in words? Instead, she settled for leaning into him and encircling his back tightly with her arms.

"Having said that," he continued after some time, "my bed was lamentably cold and empty last night."

She smiled into his shirt at that confession.

"So was mine, actually, although Crookshanks was glad to have me there."

"I don't doubt it," he said, frowning in mock consternation. "It seems I shall be forced to share you with that wretched ginger fluffball."

Hermione laughed.

"I could always bring him with me."

"Absolutely not," Severus said, drawing back to glare down at her. "There's certainly not room enough in my bed for three, and in any case, I do not intend to share you."

As if to prove his point, he leant down and kissed her, a bruising, hard kiss for the sole purpose of claiming her as his own. When she was finally able to catch her breath a few minutes later, she found she had no wish to be shared at all.

* * *

After dinner that night, Hermione found herself back in the lab with Severus, laying out the ingredients for the modified Wolfsbane potion. He was attempting another variation on the one which had failed two nights ago, in the hope Lupin could find a test subject for it amongst his counterparts. Many of the werewolves the Defence teacher had managed to contact were without the benefit of even the original Wolfsbane, so a brew that may or may not work was a chance worth taking for a month of respite.

Severus was still reluctant to have her assist him in case something went wrong, but he caved in when she reasoned the failed brew hadn't been volatile in the least, and if charming the potion alone exhausted him as much as it had every other time, he would be of no use to Draco leading up to the boy's mid-week excursion.

In the end, he had conceded her hand was steady enough to take over the stirring while he added ingredients and cast the required charms. It wouldn't save him much of his exhaustion; the spells were the most tiring part of the potion, but at least he might be able to rest and relax for a few minutes in between the castings.

Four hours later, and with hours of brewing still to go, Hermione was wondering how Severus had ever managed to complete the potion on his own. Her feet were aching and her eyes becoming scratchy from a combination of tiredness and the rancid steam wafting from the brew. She clenched her jaw together to keep from yawning as Severus raised his wand for yet another round of charms. Sweat was already pouring down his face, but his wand was steady and his voice strong.

Two hours after that, the only thing that was keeping Hermione on her feet was the remembrance of Severus' complete and utter exhaustion the first time he had made the potion. If, through her meagre assistance, she could save him even a fraction of the toll it had taken on him, it was worth her own tiredness.

Even with her help, he still staggered slightly after casting the final charm and setting his wand aside. It took all her self-control not to drop the stirring rod and reach out to steady him, but all his effort would be for naught if she faltered now. Clenching the rod a little harder in her fist, she counted her stirs and watched for the colour-change she knew was imminent.

She rebuffed his attempt to take over the final minutes of stirring, and he nodded and turned away, barely managing the scant few steps to his desk before sinking heavily into the rickety chair.

As the potion abruptly changed from deep glowing yellow to the familiar murky green, she withdrew the stirring rod and used her wand to set the flame beneath the cauldron to a low simmer. It would have to stay like that until mid-morning, at which point it could be cooled and bottled.

She cleaned up the workbench and then turned to Severus, who was still sitting listlessly at the desk.

"Severus?"

He murmured a soft sound of acknowledgement and stood up, his gaze falling on her, somewhat unfocussed.

"Come on," she said quietly, taking his arm to steady him and lead him out of the lab. "Let's get you to bed. You'll be useless tomorrow if you don't sleep for a while."

He nodded, but pulled away from her for a moment to peer into the cauldron and check the height of the flame beneath it.

"It's fine," she assured him, taking his arm again.

This time, he allowed himself to be led, and as they shuffled through the sitting room, him leaning heavily against her, she commented, "How you ever made it to the bedroom on your own after last time, I'll never know."

"A near-overdose of Invigoration Draught roused me enough to clean the lab and get to bed," he said. "I'd prefer not to resort to that again, though."

"Luckily, you don't have to," she said, using her free hand to push the bedroom door open. He was sagging against her by the time they made it to the edge of the bed, where he sank down gratefully with a heavy sigh. When he moved to lie down, though, she halted him with a soft sound.

"You're not going to sleep in your clothes," she scolded.

"Believe me, Hermione," he said, "if I thought I had the energy to remove them, I would."

"_I'll_ do it, then," she said.

He huffed out a noise which might have held amusement or annoyance – she couldn't tell – but didn't move again, so she stepped forwards and knelt down beside the bed to remove his boots.

She tugged gently on one ankle for him to extend his foot. He started slightly at the touch and then, realising what she meant to do, allowed her to wrestle with the tight-fitting boots and then pull his socks off as well.

"Why do you wear these heavy things when you don't go anywhere?" she muttered, stuffing the socks in the boots and setting them both aside.

"Protection," he said. When she looked up, surprised, he added, "They're dragon-hide; the best protection one can have against volatile potions spillages."

Hermione unbuttoned his shirt next, and he let out a tired laugh as she instinctively reached for the bottom button first. He was barely able to summon the energy to shrug out of the shirt himself, and she hesitated in drawing him to his feet again to remove his trousers. She managed to unbutton them while he still sat on the edge of the bed, only coaxing him to his feet long enough to allow them to drop to the floor.

She cast a cleansing charm over his sweat-soaked skin and drew the duvet aside before allowing him to sink onto the bed again.

A few minutes later, after stripping down to her own underwear, too, dousing the torches and setting her wand aside, she climbed in beside him.

"Thank you for your help tonight," he murmured, exhaustion already taking hold and slurring his speech.

"You're welcome," she replied softly, turning on her side to face him. He didn't speak again, and she watched him in the near-darkness as his eyes drifted closed and his breathing became deep and even.

Yawning, she shifted closer to him, marvelling at how different the atmosphere had been tonight as opposed to the previous one. Strangely enough, being with him tonight had been just as enjoyable, albeit in a different way.

* * *

Before Hermione knew it, Wednesday afternoon was upon them, and she found herself using Severus' lab to practice some of the more complicated potions that were likely to appear in her NEWT practical.

Severus was understandably unsettled waiting for Malfoy to appear after the last class of the day. He was at his desk when Hermione arrived, but without a quill or parchment in sight, she knew he wasn't working. Half an hour or so into her brewing, he came into the lab and set about reorganising the ingredients cupboard. Having done so, he then moved everything back the way it had been when he started, before going back out into the sitting room where she could hear him pacing in front of the window.

He was still pacing when Hermione completed the simple potion half an hour later, and she joined him in the sitting room, leaning against the edge of his desk as he wore a path behind it.

After some minutes of silence, uncertain of what else to do, Hermione stepped in his path as he crossed in front of her again. He stopped, looking down at her, the dullness of his eyes conveying his worry over what was to happen that night.

Without saying anything, she simply stepped forwards and wrapped her arms around his waist. Words would offer no comfort, she knew, but perhaps just being there might help, even if it only distracted him for a few minutes.

He returned her embrace, and she was still in his arms when the fireplace flared green. She stepped back quickly before Malfoy appeared, though, travelling cloak over the top of his school shirt and trousers. He looked exceptionally pale.

He glanced at Hermione for a moment, and she sighed inwardly.

"Do you want me to g-" she started to say.

"No."

Both men spoke at once, and she looked from one to the other, surprised.

"Perhaps we should all sit down," Severus suggested, looking at Malfoy approvingly.

"Are you sure the Dark Lord will be planning something for tonight?" Malfoy asked as he sank into the armchair nearest the fire.

Severus sighed and sat down in the other chair. Hermione perched on one corner of the couch, regarding the two men before her, who both looked weary beyond their respective years.

"It is not my intention to frighten you, Draco," Snape said seriously, "but we have spoken of the significance of the date. If nothing happens, well and good, but it is best to be as prepared as you can."

"You have no idea what's going on, then?" Hermione asked, and the Slytherin turned his gaze on her.

He was shaking his head even before she finished speaking. "I haven't spoken directly to my father; the Headmaster received the request for my leave and informed me of it only after he had accepted on my behalf. If anything is planned, I have no knowledge of it."

"It would have been foolish of Lucius to divulge any information before you left the school," Severus stated. "Foolish for him, but useful for us if he'd have slipped. He would be wary of Albus' suspicion, though, and concerned he may try to extract any information from you before allowing you to leave."

"Once I'm there," Malfoy said, seeming only to have heard half of Severus' speech, "if something _is_ planned, I'm not going to be able to get word to anyone."

"No," the older man agreed. "You must appear fully supportive of whatever takes place tonight, regardless of your true intentions. You must hide your reluctance if you are to remain in the good graces of both your father and the Dark Lord."

"I'll try my best," the younger man said, exhaling a shaky breath and looking anything but confident. He rubbed his arm absently, a gesture which reminded Hermione of Severus after his Mark had been removed.

"That will suffice," Severus said, nodding approvingly. "I have every confidence you can do this, Draco. We would not send you out there if we believed you to be unprepared."

Malfoy nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but then tightened his grasp on his arm, a grimace forming on his pale features.

"That's the sign," he said, standing up and looking towards his former Head of House. "Dumbledore said he'd escort me to the gate so I can Apparate."

"_Professor_ Dumbledore, Draco," Severus corrected reproachfully, following the younger Slytherin to the fireplace. They stood facing one another, and Hermione watched the scene from her armchair, feeling more like an intruder than an observer.

Severus cleared his throat and placed both hands on Malfoy's shoulders, waiting until the Head Boy looked up at him.

"Remember your training," he cautioned. "If you are taken before him, keep your shields up and avoid his eyes if you can. Do what is requested of you without hesitation; no more and no less. Most importantly, remember that whatever happens – _whatever happens_ – it is not in your power to stop it. It would be happening whether you were there or not. At best, seeing it now will prepare you for the future."

Malfoy nodded, and the older man dropped his hands from the boy's shoulders. Taking a handful of Floo powder from the jar proffered by his former Head of House, Malfoy glanced back at Hermione for a moment.

She opened her mouth to wish him good luck, inadequate though the wish was, but the words caught in her throat and she was able to do nothing more than offer what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

He nodded once more to Severus and then stepped into the flames, calling out for the Headmaster's office.

"Be safe." She finally found her voice, but the flare of green had already vanished, and she doubted whether he heard her.

Severus stood staring at the fireplace for a good many minutes, and Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of the time she'd seen another spy sent back to his former master. In her fourth year, after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Dumbledore had looked just as despairing when he had sent Severus back into Voldemort's ranks. She hoped, for all their sakes, that her classmate would be able to do what was asked of him without faltering. Severus had been distraught enough knowing that he had been unable to prevent Malfoy taking from the Mark; if the younger Slytherin was killed, she suspected it might very nearly break him.

She came back from her thoughts as Severus turned and walked to the window, gazing at something in the grounds below.

She stood up and went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and resting her head on his back, between his shoulder blades. He didn't say anything, but clasped one hand over hers as he continued to gaze outside. She lifted her head, peeking around his shoulder to follow his line of sight. Far below, two figures were making their way along the path leading to the main gates and Hogsmeade. One was tall, his long white beard billowing out in the wind, and the other was a slighter figure, a dark hood drawn up to obscure his face.

"He'll be all right," Hermione whispered as the two disappeared behind a bank of trees lining the path.

"Will he?" Severus said, more of a statement than a question. "He's even more unlike his father than I had imagined. If things go badly tonight, he may not be able to conceal his horror at what he sees."

"It will be hard," she agreed, "but I think he can do it. You've taught him well, and he is determined to play his part."

He didn't answer, and Hermione dropped her hands, moving around to stand in front of him.

"He'll be all right," she repeated. "Besides, we don't know what is going to happen tonight; we might be worrying for nothing."

"No." he shook his head. "Something will happen, of that I am certain."

"Why?" she asked. "Why are you and Professor Dumbledore so certain?"

"Do you know what day it is?" He looked down at her, his dark eyes more tired and resigned than she had seen them in some time.

"The thirtieth of April?"

Severus nodded, but at her look of confusion, he explained, "Otherwise known as Beltane Eve - the cross-quarter day opposite to Samhain. It is the festival celebrating purity," he finished, his lip curling in a derisive sneer.

His concern for Malfoy made much more sense to her now. It would be just like Voldemort to twist the meaning of purity to suit his own ends, and use the annual celebration as just cause to stage an attack. Disturbing as the notion was, it was out of their hands, and it would do neither of them any good to dwell on it.

"Come on," she said, nudging his shoulder to turn him from the window. "What can we do to distract you?"

"Nothing," he said flatly. Brushing past her, he sat at his desk and picked up a quill, staring at the mess of parchments laid out before him. "I have work to do."

She stared at him for a moment, seeing the line of tension in his jaw. She tried once more, saying, "Anything I can help you with?"

He sighed and leant back in his seat; his face was set in a frown, but it softened slightly as he saw the concern on her face.

"No, but thank you," he finally said. "I think it would be best if you left me my own devices for the time being."

"How about later, then?" she persisted.

He smiled wanly, not quite able to manage the usual smirk at her determination to help him however she could.

"Later would be acceptable," he finally conceded, "after I have worked my way through some of these."

He waved his hand at the nearest parchment, half-filled with Arithmantic workings, and Hermione nodded. She placed her hand briefly on his shoulders, and a quick, soft kiss on his cheek, and then crossed to the fireplace to Floo back to her own rooms. Glancing over her shoulders as she stepped into the hearth, she saw him sitting back, quill poised to write. A blank, faraway expression on his face gave away his lack of concentration on the task in front of him, though, and Hermione suspected very little work would be accomplished before she returned.

* * *

The nights were lengthening towards summer, and it was still early when Hermione left Snape's quarters. Meeting Harry and Ron coming back from dinner, the trio took advantage of the twilight for a walk in the school grounds, out near the edge of the lake.

She told them of Malfoy's departure, and though they moved on to speak of other, more trivial things, there was an underlying tension in the air that Hermione couldn't explain.

Darkness had fallen almost completely, and they had just turned back onto the path towards the main castle doors when a burst of orange light suddenly flashed on the horizon across the other side of the lake, followed shortly afterwards by a deafening bang.

"What the bloody hell was _that_?" Ron exclaimed as Hermione blinked a few times. Orange spots still danced in front of her vision from the sudden, blinding light.

"It came from Hogsmeade," Harry said, shading his eyes as a shower of blindingly bright sparks flashed in the air where the flames had dissipated.

"Maybe something went wrong at Zonko's," Ron suggested. "Fred and George said Zonko's manufacturers are hopping mad they can't match the quality of their fireworks. Maybe they're experimenting."

"This late at night?" Hermione asked sceptically. As much as she hoped it was something as innocent as a fireworks mishap, something told her that was wishful thinking. Harry, too, looked unconvinced.

Not a moment later, another explosion rent the night air, close to but slightly west of the original one.

The other students down by the lake were gaping at the lights, curiosity and fear mingled on their faces.

"I think we should go back to the castle," Hermione said uneasily.

Before the other two could either protest or agree, Dumbledore's voice boomed out across the grounds, magically magnified to tenfold usual volume.

"All students to the Great Hall immediately!"

* * *

It was well past midnight when the last of the frightened younger students finally went to bed and Hermione was able to retreat to her own bedroom.

Everyone had been confined to the Great Hall until the Headmaster had been able to gain more information about what had happened, but it was still a mystery to most of the students.

Rumours had circulated throughout the Hall, each one more fantastical than the next, and blaming everything from Zonko's to Death Eaters for the fires still burning in the wizarding village a short distance away.

Hermione, Harry and Ron knew better than to think it was a coincidence – Draco's departure, his burning Mark and the significance of Beltane Eve in the twisted ideals of the Dark Lord. Though he had tried to conceal it, Hermione had seen Harry wincing a number of times throughout the night, and openly rubbing his scar once.

Dumbledore confirmed their suspicions after over an hour of tense waiting. Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade.

Fear was thick in the air, a horrified murmur rippling throughout the Great Hall, and although the Headmaster assured the students there was no threat to them, the other teachers all appeared tight-lipped and worried as they flitted amongst their students. Even the Slytherins looked nervous.

The younger students were simply confused and scared, and Professor McGonagall charged Hermione with seeing them all to their dormitories once they were permitted to leave the Great Hall. The older Gryffindors, Harry and Ron among them, remained in the common room, discussing what might have prompted the attack in low, uneasy voices.

She stayed there only for a few moments, before giving her two friends a meaningful look and Flooing through to Severus' quarters.

The sitting room was empty, the curtains closed, and she stepped quietly into the bedroom. If he was asleep – which she highly doubted, given what had happened - the Floo would have probably woken him anyway.

He wasn't though.

The duvet was unrumpled, and he was sitting in the armchair in front of the window, staring out across the grounds to Hogsmeade in the distance. The moon, just past full, was shining in the clear sky, the cold, bluish light setting his pale skin almost aglow.

Instead of the usual twinkling lights of the wizarding town in the distance, though, the night air was filled with red and orange, new fires blooming just as old ones died out. High above the ruined town, the grotesque, twisting shape of the Dark Mark cast a sickly green light over the landscape.

Wordlessly, she went to stand beside him, glancing from the scene outside to his face. He made no acknowledgement of her presence, and his face was blank and expressionless.

"Severus?" she said softly.

He blinked, but made no other movement, and she laid one hand lightly on his bare shoulder. His skin was icy to the touch, gooseflesh rising as she trailed her hand across the top of his back. Looking around, she spotted a blanket folded across the back of the other armchair, and she retrieved it, unfolding it as she moved behind him.

"You'll catch your death sitting here," she scolded quietly, draping the blanket around his shoulders.

"I'd not be the first tonight," he said, his voice strangely flat.

Hermione sighed softly, staring at the distant fires again. "I can't believe it…" She trailed off, not knowing how to even put into words the fear crawling deep within her as she surveyed the scene.

"I would have known about this, had I not been discovered," he said at length.

She looked down at him and noticed he was rubbing his forearm – something she'd not seen him do in months.

"You don't know that," she reasoned, laying her hand across his and pulling it away from his arm. She entwined her fingers in his, squeezing gently.

"They're all out there, Hermione," he said, his voice bleak. "That isn't a few of his most trusted servants carrying out his orders. It's a good portion of his whole army, and only a preview of the havoc he is capable of wreaking on the wizarding world."

She swallowed, trying to conceal the fear that rose, choking, in her throat when she thought of what was to come if this was only a preview.

"Why, though?" she asked. "Why Hogsmeade? He hates Muggles, so why attack the only all-magical village in the country? It doesn't make sense."

"He's angry," Snape said. "His young servants failed at the tasks he set, his snivelling servant is dead, and Potter is still alive. Things are not progressing to his liking, and this is his retribution. An entire village for his displeasure."

Hermione bit back a sob, trying not to think of all the witches and wizards in Hogsmeade she had made acquaintance with in the past five years, since her first visit to the town. Surely some of them would have managed to escape? Surely the Ministry and the Order were there to help them now?

Severus bowed his head, raising one hand to tiredly rub his eyes.

Feeling helpless in her inability to comfort him, she settled for resting one arm across his shoulders and standing close as they both surveyed the distant sight of the burning village. He leant towards her but didn't speak

Eventually, she straightened and said softly, "Come to bed, Severus. There's nothing we can do for now."

He stood up, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders, but then stopped, gazing out the window again.

"Draco is most likely out there, too," he said softly, despair ringing clear in his voice.

It had occurred to Hermione earlier that Draco could be out there, that he would be forced to prove his loyalty to Voldemort and his father by partaking in the events of the night.

"I'm sure he's safe," she said, trying to convince herself as much as Severus that it was the truth.

He shook his head.

"Safety is one thing… if he's out there, tonight… what he's seen… it's…" He shook his head, and Hermione saw him swallow thickly.

"Let's wait and see when he returns," she said quietly. "Come on. Even if we can't sleep, we can try to rest."

Eventually he nodded and walked listlessly across the room to climb into bed. When she lay down beside him after shedding her outer clothes and shoes, he reached for her straight away, pulling her tightly against his chest.

"What did Albus have to say to the students?" he asked after a while. "I can imagine they would have been rather confused."

She nodded, and told him in a quiet voice what Dumbledore had told them, and what she, Harry and Ron had surmised. Unspoken to her friends, she voiced one worrying question to him.

"If they can get to Hogsmeade, do you think they can come here?"

"No," he said firmly. It was the surest he had sounded all night, and she took some measure of comfort in that.

"There are many more walls than the visible ones which surround and protect this school, Hermione," he said. "It is safer than most places."

She closed her eyes and burrowed closer to him, wishing for the first time she could get up and close the curtains. On any other night, the soft glow of moonlight was preferable to complete darkness. Tonight, though, the room was lit with an eerie mixture of dull orange and green, overpowering the white light of the moon.

Lying as they were, Hermione suspected Severus was still gazing out the window over the top of her head. She didn't try to move, though, content just being with him on a night of such uncertainty and fear. Somehow, despite the myriad of thoughts running through her mind, the warmth of his embrace soothed her, and she eventually drifted off into a restless sleep.

* * *

Hermione awoke in the darkness to feel of Severus' hands on her shoulders, lightly shaking her.

"W'sit?" she mumbled sleepily, blinking as the torches in the room suddenly flared to life at his spoken word.

"Hermione," he said urgently. "You need to get up. Hurry."

The strange tone of his voice had her wide awake in a moment, and as she sat up he crossed the room and began quickly pulling on his clothes.

"What's happened?" she asked, climbing out of bed and moving to dress herself, too.

"I don't know," he said. "Albus is in the next room waiting for us."

She spun around sharply. "Here?"

Severus nodded grimly, running a hand through his sleep-dishevelled hair.

Hermione glanced at the clock as she pulled her shirt over her head; it was just after four in the morning. What on earth was so urgent for the Headmaster to be summoning them at this hour?

It suddenly dawned on her.

"Is it Malfoy?" she asked fearfully.

Severus shook his head, waiting at the door for her to join him.

"No. It's something else. Draco has yet to return."

Her worry increasing, she stuffed her feet quickly into her shoes and grabbed her wand from the pocket of her robes, and Severus ushered her out into the sitting room.

Dumbledore turned from where he was leaning against the mantle.

"Miss Granger," he greeted grimly. "Severus, I am sorry for my intrusion, but I would not be here were it not of the utmost importance."

"What is it, sir?" Hermione could hear something in the Headmaster's voice, an undertone which set her nerves on edge.

"I must ask you to come with me to my office, Miss Granger," he said heavily. "Severus, I would have you there, too, if you will. I am afraid I must inform you that Hogsmeade is not the only place the servants of Voldemort have struck tonight."

* * *

**To be continued**

_Thank you, as always, to everyone who continues to read and review!_

_Eternal gratitude and a never-ending supply of chocolate to Potion Mistress, the most tolerant beta ever, for making this a much better story than it would have been without her input. Mistakes are all mine, and usually a result of my silly tinkering with the chapter after she's sent it back._

_The Gaelic holiday of Beltane is celebrated around May 1st each year. Traditionally, Druids would create a need-fire on top of a hill on this day and rush the village's cattle through the fires to purify them and bring luck People would also go between the fires to purify themselves. It seemed fitting that Voldemort would observe this celebration in his own sick way._

_Also, thank you to BastetAzazis and Ferporcel, who have decided to take it upon themselves to translate this story into Portuguese. You can find the first three chapters on this site and at OWL.  
_

_Lastly, those of you who read my LJ will know I've just landed my first full-time job, starting on Monday. I'm not sure how it will affect the frequency of updates – I'll try to keep them at least fortnightly - but it might take a while to settle in to the strange new routine of actually have to go to work on a regular basis. :P_


	39. The Beginning of the End

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 39**

With a sinking feeling in her stomach and a tight grasp on Severus' hand, Hermione crossed to the fireplace and accepted a pinch of Floo powder from the jar Dumbledore held out.

She looked up at the old man, searching his face for some sign of what was amiss, but he simply shook his head, his eyes dull and sad as he gestured towards the fireplace.

The first thought that crossed her mind was something had happened to Draco, that he had been sent somewhere other than Hogsmeade to carry out another attack for Voldemort as a test. Following that thought came an almost choking fear for her parents' safety.

With a fearful glance at Severus, who was also looking at Dumbledore for an explanation, she released his hand and Flooed through to the Headmaster's office, desperately hoping her fears were unfounded.

The scene that greeted her in the Headmaster's office immediately told her she had been wrong, but any sense of relief was quelled by the expressions of the people before her.

On the couch facing the fire, three of the red-haired Weasleys sat close together. Ginny was curled into the lap of her older brother, Charlie, and Ron was sitting beside them, his hand on his sister's back. All three of looked up at the sound of her entrance, and she took in their tear-stained faces and bloodshot eyes with growing alarm.

A movement caught her eye from across the room, and she looked over to see Harry standing by the far wall, alone. His own eyes were red, too, but his hands were clenched tightly at his sides, his face twisted in a terrible expression of pain and anger. She could almost feel the hatred radiating from him.

"What's happened?" she whispered, cold dread rising up in her before any of them even spoke.

Ron looked at her and tried to answer her question, but then he swallowed and shook his head, clenching his eyes tightly shut.

Ignoring the sound of the Floo behind her, she crossed to the couch and perched on the armrest beside Ron, taking her friend's hands in her own. The only thing that Hermione could think, given Charlie's presence and all of their distraught appearances, was that something had happened to one of the other Weasleys; had Mr or Mrs Weasley, or one of the older boys, gone to Hogsmeade tonight to help the Order? Had one of them been hurt, or worse, killed?

She turned to look at Severus, who had taken the empty armchair at the end of the couch, a frightening look of realisation on his face as he surveyed the room.

"Miss Granger," the Headmaster began, seating himself behind his desk, "Severus, thank you for joining us here at such an early hour. As you have both undoubtedly gathered, something untoward has occurred earlier tonight, and I feel, grave as the news is, keeping it from you will not serve any purpose." Dumbledore paused, looking at Hermione and Severus in turn, before solemnly continuing, "It is my sad duty to inform you that, in addition to Hogsmeade, the servants of Tom Riddle also attacked the Burrow last night."

Hermione heard Snape's sharp intake of breath as she stared at the Headmaster in horrified disbelief. She thought one of the family might have been hurt _in_ Hogsmeade… not attacked at home. And if all of them had been home at the time, who was…

"Who?" she whispered. "Who's… who's been…?"

"Everyone."

The voice, thick and heavy with grief, echoed in the stunned silence of the room, and it took Hermione a moment to realise it had come from Charlie.

_Everyone._ Hermione swayed slightly on the armrest, and dimly felt Severus rest a hand on her back to steady her. _There must be some mistake…_

"Ron?" she questioned in disbelief. Surely they couldn't all be… dead? Her friend met her eyes and nodded his head. Finally finding his voice, he managed to whisper hoarsely, "They're gone, Hermione. They're all gone."

"Oh, my…" Hermione voice caught on a sob as the gravity of what had happened hit her, and she stared at Ron as his eyes became brighter and he bowed his head to the tears spilling down his cheeks.

Realising she was still clasping his hands, she pulled him to her, and as she wrapped her arms around him she felt him shaking as his grief overcame him. Her vision blurred as her own tears began to fall, too, and she slid from the armrest down onto the couch beside Ron.

Images of the Weasleys came into her mind; hearty meals at the Burrow, Mr Weasley excitedly escorting her parents around Diagon Alley, hours of fun with Fred and George and their wacky jokes, and getting advice from Mrs Weasley, who had treated her like a second daughter.

None of it would ever happen again.

"They were all at the house, Albus?" she heard Severus question. "Even the twins?"

"They had gone home for dinner, as was their habit once a week or so." The Headmaster's voice seemed to come from a long way off. "The attack happened just before eight, almost simultaneously to the hit on Hogsmeade. We wouldn't have even known something was amiss, but for them not appearing in Hogsmeade with the rest of the Order."

Ron pulled away from Hermione and slumped back on the couch as his brother started speaking.

"I'd just arrived back in the country when I heard news of Hogsmeade at the Ministry," Charlie said in a hollow voice. "I went straight to the town, and then home when I realised Mum and Dad weren't there. They wouldn't have stayed away when people needed help unless… that's when I found…"

"I should have been home, too," the now-oldest Weasley continued in a pained voice. "I missed my Portkey and had to fill out all sorts of bloody forms for the International Floo."

"You couldn't have done anything, Mr Weasley," Severus spoke up. "Had you been there, your brother and sister would have lost you, too."

"I know," said Charlie, as Ginny let out a choked sob and clung more tightly to her older brother.

Severus stood up to pace across the room near the fireplace, exchanging a worried glance with the Headmaster. After a moment, Charlie spoke up, his question directed to the former Potions master. "I take it you're no longer in contact with his lot?'

There was no accusation in his tone, and Severus shook his head.

"No," he sighed. "And for that, I never thought I would be regretful, but had I retained my position until now, I may have been able to bring warning. For failing to do that, I am truly sorry."

"I bet Malfoy knew."

It was the first time Harry had spoken since she and Severus had arrived, and his words were full of barely-disguised hatred.

"Malfoy?" Charlie questioned. "Lucius' little upstart of a son, you mean? The one in your class?"

"Draco Malfoy is working for the Order," the Headmaster said, leaning forwards on his desk and steepling his hands beneath his chin.

At Charlie's startled look, Dumbledore continued, "I can assure you he is above reproach. I have taken measures to ensure his loyalty to us, measures which leave no room for defiance."

Charlie blew out a breath and looked around the room. Hermione nodded when his gaze fell on her, but Harry was scowling at the Headmaster.

"And he's out there tonight?" Charlie asked, looking to Severus this time.

"Yes," Harry spat as Severus opened his mouth to speak. "And I bet he knew all about Hogsmeade _and_ the Burrow. He's always thought himself better than Ron, just as his father has always hated Mr Weasley. How convenient that he couldn't get word to us before it was too late."

Hermione was startled and dismayed by the venom in Harry's words. It was a terrible, terrible thing that had happened, and all of them were distraught, but Harry was misplacing his anger and his blame.

"I would advise you to think before you make such unjustified accusations, Mr Potter," Severus warned in a low voice. "Or do you not recognise the precarious position Mr Malfoy is currently in?"

"The same position you were at Christmas, sir?" Harry returned defiantly. "_You_ didn't let Hermione's parents die, and you wouldn't have let six members of the Order die, either."

"No, I wouldn't," he agreed.

A triumphant smile bloomed on Harry's face, thinking he had proven his point, before Severus spoke up again.

"I wouldn't have let them die, _had I known_," he emphasised. "Chances are _both_ attacks were purposely kept from Mr Malfoy, and even if he has been in Hogsmeade tonight, he may not have known of the other attack."

"Bullshit," Harry spat.

Severus opened his mouth to respond angrily, but the Headmaster cut in.

"Perhaps we should wait until Mr Malfoy returns before any further speculation is made?" he suggested in a mild voice, though his dark expression gave away his disappointment at Harry's accusations.

Harry scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets, resolutely ignoring both Severus and the Headmaster.

As it turned out, they didn't have to wait long for Malfoy's arrival. Dumbledore and Charlie spoke in quiet voices for a few minutes, discussing arrangements that, while painful, would have to be made in haste. Ron and Ginny still sat silently, and Hermione divided her attention between watching them worriedly and glancing at Severus, who had moved to the windowsill and sat down, lost in his own thoughts and undoubtedly worried for Malfoy.

Suddenly a high-pitched cry rang out, and Fawkes appeared in a burst of flames, alighting on his perch across the room.

Both the Headmaster and Snape stood immediately, and Hermione recalled hearing the phoenix cry like that once before, when Severus had returned from a meeting with Voldemort many months ago. Her eyes widened, realising it signified Malfoy's return.

"Albus," Severus said urgently, turning to the older man, "I don't think it's a good idea for-"

He broke off, though, as the Floo flared and a pale, dishevelled Draco Malfoy stepped into the room.

There was absolute silence for a moment, and Malfoy's expression turned from startled, upon seeing so many people in the room, to one of confusion at the Weasleys' bloodshot eyes.

Before any of them could react, though, Harry launched himself across the room at the Slytherin with a cry of rage.

Malfoy let out a startled exclamation as Harry's fist collided with his jaw, and he stumbled back against the wall next to the mantle.

"You little bastard!" Harry shouted, his voice breaking in his hysteria. "You knew this was going to happen! You knew, and you did nothing. NOTHING!"

After a moment of shocked immobility, Hermione jumped to her feet, her voice joining with the Headmaster's as they called out for Harry to stop.

Severus was quicker than any of them, though, crossing the room quickly and hauling Harry off the other boy by the neck of his robes. No longer able to reach the stunned Head Boy with his punches, Harry turned his rage on Severus, fighting wildly against the hands that held him.

"Let go! Let go of me, you bastard!"

Despite his blind rage, Harry wasn't strong enough to dislodge Severus, and the older man managed to pin both of the his arms behind his back, immobilising him further with his own arm clamped firmly around Harry's midsection.

"Calm yourself, Potter," Severus hissed in Harry's ear. "Such foolishness is not helping anybody."

"He knew!" Harry shouted, still struggling wildly to free himself from the other man's grasp. "He had to know."

"Look at your friends," he said, twisting them both around so Harry was forced to look to the Weasleys on the couch, watching the scene play out with stricken looks. "_Look_ at them. If anyone has cause to be wrongly out for Draco's blood, they do, but even in their grief they can see sense. For Merlin's sake, haven't enough people been hurt tonight?"

As if suddenly giving up, Hermione saw Harry slump dejectedly, then realise he was slumping _against_ his hated former teacher and try to push away.

"Get off me!" he snapped, elbowing Severus hard when the older man didn't release him immediately. "I get it, okay? Everyone else believes the little ferret. Well _I don't_."

Severus stepped back, then, and Hermione stood from her place beside Ron. She moved past Malfoy, who had managed to compose himself somewhat and was watching them all with a mixture of fear and confusion, rubbing his jaw where Harry had hit him.

"Harry, please," she implored, drawing close enough to take his hand. He yanked it away, but she wasn't deterred. "Severus is right; think about what you're say-"

"Oh, of course _Severus is right_," he mimicked. "You _would_ believe that, wouldn't you? Well I don't trust _either_ of them."

"Harry." This time, the reproachful voice came from the Headmaster, and Harry turned to the old man, scowling.

"Now is not the time for old grudges, nor unjust accusations," Dumbledore said, gently but firmly. Hermione noticed his gaze move from Harry to Severus for a moment, and then back to the angry young man before him.

"You know the terms of Mr Malfoy's Vow," the Headmaster continued, and he turned to look at the young Slytherin, who was still eyeing Harry warily. "So, Mr Malfoy, bound to me as you are, I must ask you to allay our fears. When did you become aware of the two attacks tonight, Hogsmeade and the Burrow."

"Albus," Severus began, "is there really a need for-"

"The Burrow?" Malfoy paled visibly, his gaze darting to the three Weasleys on the couch. "Isn't that…?"

The Headmaster sighed.

"I take it you were not aware of a second attack tonight? What of Hogsmeade?"

"No, I- uh-" Malfoy faltered, his eyes widening in horror as the cause of the Weasleys' distress – and Harry's anger – dawned on him. "What? Hogsmeade? No, I didn't know until we arrived."

"Draco, you do not have to explain yourself-" Snape began again, but Malfoy cut him off.

"It's all right," He cleared his throat. "It seems they have a right to know."

The Headmaster nodded approvingly, and Malfoy took a deep breath, looking at each of the occupants of the room in turn. Hermione nodded at him encouragingly when his eyes fell on her.

"I learnt what was to happen in Hogsmeade only when we arrived there. I Apparated home from the school gates, as requested, and had dinner with my mother. Then we took a Portkey the Dark Lord had given Father; _he_ didn't even know where it would take us, but we ended up outside Hogsmeade. Other Death Eaters had already… already begun, and Father instructed me to stay close by him, but cast nothing more than defensive spells if I needed to."

Severus looked up sharply at that.

"You were specifically instructed _not_ to participate?"

Malfoy nodded. "I had to… to watch, to 'learn the ways of my comrades', as Father put it. When it was… over…" He cleared his throat and continued after a moment. "We took another Portkey to see _him_."

No one in the room had to question to whom Draco was referring.

"He looked into my mind to see my reaction to what had happened in Hogsmeade."

The Headmaster inhaled sharply, and Severus strode over to Malfoy, taking him by the shoulders and demanding urgently, "What did he see?"

"Only what I wanted him to see," Malfoy said quietly. "Thanks to your lessons."

Hermione saw the tension drain from Severus' tense posture, and the Headmaster, too, seemed to exhale a breath of relief.

"And you expect us to believe," Harry suddenly spoke up derisively, "that you spent all that time with your father last night and didn't hear a whisper of what happened at the Burrow?"

"It's the truth," Malfoy said simply, returning none of the scorn Harry had afforded him in his tone.

"It's bullshit," Harry spat for the second time that night, and turned to Ron, who looked up at him defeatedly. "You _know_ how much Lucius Malfoy hated your dad. Do you honestly think he would resist a chance to brag about what has happened?"

"It doesn't matter now, Harry," Ron said hollowly. "They'll all still be gone."

Before Harry could speak again, Malfoy said, "If it happened at the same time as Hogsmeade, Father couldn't have been there. You're right on one thing, though, Potter; he wouldn't have been able to resist bragging if he'd known… which means he _didn't_, and nor did I."

Harry glared at Malfoy, then looked around at everyone else in the room. No one offered a word of support either way, until he looked at Hermione and she said quietly, "It makes sense, Harry."

He nodded, but she could see his fists clenched tightly, and knew better than to think it was a nod of acceptance.

"Fine," he said tightly. "_Fine_. But you should have known, and it's your fault they're all dead."

With that parting shot, Harry turned and stormed from the Headmaster's office, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Some time later, Hermione found herself wandering the castle in search of her angry friend. Untruthful as it was, Harry's parting shot had hit Malfoy hard, and although the Head Boy was trying hard to control his emotions, Hermione could see he was fighting a losing battle.

Severus, too, had noticed his growing distress. At a nod of approval from the Headmaster, he had taken Malfoy through the Floo to his quarters, where they would be undisturbed until Dumbledore arrived to hear the Slytherin's full account of the night.

After their departure, the Headmaster had suggested the Weasleys move to the Room of Requirement, so they could have some time together without interruptions from the rest of the school. He had warned them he would be cancelling all classes for the day, so not to venture out into the school unless they felt ready to speak with anyone. Neither Charlie, Ron, Ginny nor Hermione protested, and she had the feeling it would be some time indeed before any of them wished to speak about the events of the night.

They found the Room of Requirement filled with comfortable chairs, a steaming pot of tea on the sideboard and a pile of neatly folded handkerchiefs on the table. While Charlie settled on the couch with Ginny, who was still yet to speak a word in Hermione's hearing, Ron pulled Hermione aside and asked her to find Harry, worried he was angry and hurt enough to leave the castle and seek out Voldemort alone.

So Hermione searched all of Harry's usual haunts within the castle, becoming increasingly worried as she found each successive one as silent and empty as the last.

Reaching the Entrance Hall after a second, unsuccessful search of the higher levels of the castle, she eyed the main doors leading out to the grounds. It was almost sunrise, she reasoned from the faint, grey tint on the horizon, visible through the windows either side of the door. It would be safe to venture a short distance from the castle, just to see if her distraught friend had gone outside to clear his head.

Still, she did withdraw her wand, holding it at the ready as she stepped out into the cool, lingering darkness. Not far from the door, she spotted the lone figure of Harry sitting on the low stone wall surrounding the courtyard. Hermione joined him hesitantly, and his only acknowledgement of her presence as she sat beside him was a slight drooping of his shoulders.

They sat in silence for a while, both gazing off into the darkness, tinted grey now with the approaching dawn.

"He's never going to stop until I kill him, is he?"

Hermione looked down at her hands; she had no answer for Harry – none that he wanted to hear – and she didn't trust her voice to remain steady, whatever she might have said.

"The longer I wait to confront him, the more people he's going to kill to lure me into action."

"Harry, they weren't… they might not have been killed for their closeness to you," she said softly.

"Oh, open your eyes, Hermione," he snapped, but then his shoulders seemed to sag and he went on more quietly, "Voldemort knew to hit me where it would hurt the most. They were the closest thing to a family I've ever had, and he knew it. If it wasn't for me… if I hadn't become so close to them…"

"No," she said firmly, reaching out to grasp one of his hands in her own. His voice had taken on the same tone Severus' did when he shouldered the blame for anything Voldemort had forced him to do, and the bleakness of it frightened her.

"That's not true, Harry," she continued. "Yes, Voldemort knew it would hurt you, but it was a strategic move as much as anything else. The Weasleys are… were… in the Order; their whole family stands against everything Voldemort wants for the wizarding world. They're a threat to him, and _that_ is why they were targeted. It's _not your fault_."

He didn't answer, but he didn't argue, at least. After a few minutes of silence, he changed the subject slightly.

"So, what did Malfoy see in Hogsmeade last night?"

"I don't know."

"I thought Snape would have told you."

"I haven't spoken to Severus yet. After you left, he took Malfoy down to his quarters, and Professor Dumbledore suggested Ron, Ginny and Charlie go to the Room of Requirement so they could be together without any interruptions. I went with them, and then came out here looking for you. I think the Headmaster was going to talk to Malfoy when we left; he's probably doing that now."

Harry didn't comment, and Hermione took a deep breath.

"Harry, you know he couldn't lie to Dumbledore," she said quietly. "You know how the Vow works, and saw his surprise when he arrived to see all of us there. He truly had no idea."

"I know," Harry sighed, and Hermione looked at him, startled. She had been expecting an argument, or at the very least, a derisive remark.

"I was just so angry at everything and everyone – myself for the Weasleys being too dear to me, Dumbledore for refusing to act before now; I wanted to hurt someone, and I couldn't reach Voldemort, so I lashed out at him instead. It seems so unfair he returned unscathed when so many… died."

"Physically unscathed, maybe," Hermione said. "I don't know what he's seen or done tonight, but if he was in Hogsmeade, I don't think he'll ever be able to forget it."

Harry sighed again.

"I just wish someone had known."

"So do I, Harry," she said. "So do I."

"I feel like I've lost my own family all over again, only this time I'll remember what I've lost; I can only imagine how Ron and Ginny feel."

"And Charlie," Hermione added softly. "Everything is on his shoulders; he's the oldest now. It's so lucky he missed his Portkey."

Harry murmured in agreement.

"How far does it have to go, though?" he mused. "Even now, Dumbledore won't act… won't let me do what he knows I have to do, in the end."

"Have you considered that is exactly what Voldemort wants, Harry?" she asked.

His face darkened, but she pressed on, counting on him hearing what she had to say, even if he didn't want to.

"He's trying to lure you out before you're really prepared to face him."

"I'll never be prepared," he said bitterly.

"You _will_," she said, quietly but firmly, "but not now. Look at yourself, Harry; you're an emotional wreck – angry, vengeful – and your closest friends aren't any better. The whole Order will be mourning their loss. Voldemort knows, after the Department of Mysteries, if he makes you angry enough or threatens those you care about, you'll run straight to him, straight into a trap. Are you going to do exactly what he wants?"

"If we wait, though, he'll only keep on killing."

"Maybe not," Hermione reasoned. "It will confuse him. Think about it – there is no place he could destroy, no people he could kill, to hurt you more than he has tonight. If _this_ wasn't enough for you to snap and march blindly into a fight, he'll think nothing is."

"But it _is_ enough!" Harry said.

"I know," she said quickly. "God, Harry, I want to go out there and kill him myself for what he's done, but we have to let him _think_ it hasn't provoked us."

Harry didn't answer, but Hermione could see him thinking on her words, staring out across the grounds with a furrowed brow.

"Please, Harry," she implored after some minutes of silence. "Please don't rush into this. We've lost enough already. Wait a little longer, so we can go out there with a plan, with the Order standing behind you. Please."

Again, there was silence, but Hermione watched as a myriad of emotions crossed Harry's face. The dark anger turned to uncertainty, then fear, and finally, he set his jaw and looked at her with a calm but stony resolve.

"I'll wait," he said. "But not for long. I'm the one who has to do this, not Dumbledore – in his eyes, I don't think I'll ever be ready… and maybe I won't – but I'm going to give it everything I've got."

Hermione squeezed his hand again.

"We'll be right there with you, Harry, if you just promise not to do anything stupid, like run off to face him alone."

He shook his head.

"I won't… as tempting as it is. I just want this to be over, but you're right; we all need to go into this as prepared as we possibly can be, else I don't know if we'll ever… _I'll_ ever be able to-"

"You _will_."

Hermione was surprised, a moment later, when Harry huffed out a short laugh and put his arm around her, hugging her briefly.

"I'm glad someone can still be optimistic. I find it hard most of the time… _all_ of the time."

She gave him a small smile. "Come on, let's go inside. Ron will be wanting to know I've found you."

On their way up to the Room of Requirement, they turned, startled by the sudden sound of wings beating along the deserted corridor. A large barn owl dropped a roll of parchment, and Harry caught it as the bird swooped over them and flew back the way it came without waiting for payment or a reply.

Hermione looked on as Harry unravelled the thick wad of parchment, and they both inhaled sharply as they realised it was the_ Daily Prophet_.

"Isn't it too early for that?" Hermione asked.

"No, look." Harry pointed to the writing under the main title, which proclaimed 'Special Early Edition'.

"Maybe we shouldn't look," she said nervously as Harry unrolled the parchment further. He hesitated and met her eyes apprehensively.

Looking around the corridor, he pulled Hermione into an alcove behind a knight.

"I need to know," he said seriously. "It's not going to be pleasant, but we're going to have to face it sooner or later. Together?"

She nodded, and they stood side by side and unfolded the parchment completely. Hermione bit her lip to hold back a cry at the photograph adorning the front page, but she needn't have suppressed it, since Harry let out a sharp gasp of his own.

Hermione blinked quickly to clear her vision of fresh tears as they looked at the moving picture of what had once been the main street of Hogsmeade. Some portions of buildings were still recognisable – the gable of The Three Broomsticks, the caricature-like frontage of Zonko's – but everything that wasn't already in ruins was burning, thick black smoke filling the top of the photo.

Turning her eyes to the accompanying article, Hermione read: _HOGSMEADE RAZED, FAMILY MURDERED._ In a smaller subheading below, the paper went on to say, 'No witch or wizard is safe: town burnt to the ground and pureblood family murdered in two separate attacks'.

Pulling out her wand, she cast a soft _'Lumos'_ to light the alcove, and they both read the article.

_Last night, the town of Hogsmeade was brought to its knees by the second Death Eater attack in as many years. Three people were killed and dozens injured last April when servants of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named launched a daring daylight attack on the town during a weekend excursion for the students of the nearby Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_This year, on the eve of Beltane, the festival of purity, Death Eaters struck again, this time leaving no building standing and killing anyone who stayed to try to defend their property. Casualties have not yet been confirmed, but the number is expected to rise close to one hundred. No distinction was made between pureblood, half-blood or Muggleborn as the Dark servants burned much of the town to the ground._

_Ministry Aurors were on the scene within half an hour, but their efforts to capture the criminals or save any of the town were hampered by complex wards and cloaking spells the Death Eaters had erected around the town. Two servants of You-Know-Who were captured and have been taken to the Ministry for interrogation._

_In a separate attack which is bound to shock and outrage the wizarding community even further, reports are coming in of the callous murder of six members of a well-loved pureblood family. Arthur and Molly Weasley, along with four of their seven children – William, Percy, Fred and George – were murdered last night in their home, almost at the same time as the main contingent of Death Eaters struck Hogsmeade. Close acquaintances of the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, and known for advocating wizard-Muggle relations, it seems the Weasley family was marked as enemies of You-Know-Who, regardless of their established bloodline._

_These two attacks leave little doubt as to You-Know-Who's intentions for the wizarding world, and one has to ask what the Ministry can do to keep the public safe against such brutal and unpredictable acts of terror. Perhaps it is time to turn our eyes to Albus Dumbledore, the man who defeated the last Dark wizard to threaten our way of life, Grindelwald. Can the aging Headmaster of Hogwarts and his young protégé, the one and only Harry Potter, succeed where all others have failed and defeat You-Know-Who for good?_

_The _Daily Prophet _wishes to offer condolences to all those affected by these terrible acts. A full list of Hogsmeade casualties will be made available as soon as possible, in the later edition of today's publication._

_The Weasley name will be carried on by Molly and Arthur's surviving children, Charles, Ronald and Ginevra._

_Page 4: Ministry spokesperson says, "No warning at all."_

Page 10: How to defeat a Dark wizard: Albus Dumbledore and Grindelwald 

Hermione swallowed thickly as Harry lowered the parchment and leant heavily against the wall with his eyes closed.

"See?" he said hoarsely. "It all comes down to me."

"I think you should take this to the Headmaster," Hermione finally said, finding herself unable to say anything to contradict Harry's statement. Whichever way they looked at it, and whoever stood by him, the future of the entire wizarding world was squarely on his shoulders.

Harry didn't seem to have heard her, and she shook his arm gently.

"Harry, come on, think about it," she said. "Whoever sent you that paper wants to upset you; go and talk to Professor Dumbledore about it before you start worrying about things beyond your control."

He nodded, but as the stepped out of the alcove and Harry started down the corridor towards the stairs and Dumbledore's office, an unpleasant thought hit Hermione.

"Aren't you coming?" Harry was a short distance down the corridor already, waiting for her to catch up.

"Uh, no," she said. "I'm going to check on the others and make sure no one has sent _them_ a copy of the _Prophet_."

Harry paled, and then nodded. "They'll have to see it sooner or later, too."

"I know." She grimaced. "But not now."

They parted ways and Hermione managed to make her way to the Room of Requirement without running into any students or teachers; it was still early, and after the fear and confusion of the previous night, she guessed many of the students wouldn't be rousing for a while yet. The door to the hidden room appeared as she drew near, and she took a deep breath before slipping quietly into the room.

Charlie was sitting on a comfortable blue couch, with Ginny clinging to him much as she had in the Headmaster's office. The older Weasley turned to look towards the door as Hermione closed it behind her. Ginny face was buried in the front of his shirt, and Charlie's face was dull and closed, as though he couldn't possibly express the sorrow he was feeling at the loss of most of his family.

Ron was sitting nearby, in an armchair, but he rose and came over to her before anyone spoke.

"Did you find Harry?" he asked in a low voice. He, too, had stopped crying, but his eyes were still red and puffy.

"Yes, he's a bit calmer now; he's gone to talk with Professor Dumbledore."

Ron nodded, seemingly relieved there was one less thing to worry about.

"How are you?" she said after a moment, immediately cursing the stupidity of such a question. What else could she say, though?

Understanding her apologetic expression, though, he smiled bitterly. "It just doesn't seem real… that they're-" he raised a shaking hand to rub his eyes for a moment "-that they're gone."

Shaking her head, Hermione drew him back to sit in the armchair again, taking the one opposite and nodding as Charlie signalled for them to talk quietly so as not to disturb Ginny.

"She's finally fallen asleep," he said softly, "though she'll wake up if I try to move. I think she's scared if I let go, I might be gone, too."

Hermione nodded sympathetically.

"I'll have to extricate myself soon. Minerva-" he huffed out a tired, half-hearted laugh "-it's still strange calling her that – is going with me to the Ministry so I can… can identi… make things official," he finally managed.

"I'll stay with Ginny," Ron said.

"So will I, if you like," Hermione offered, and both red-haired men nodded gratefully.

It wasn't long after that McGonagall appeared, her own eyes still red as she looked at them with pity.

"All classes have been cancelled for the day," she said, only a fraction of her usual business-like manner remaining. "You three, plus Mr Potter, of course, are exempted for as long as you need. I imagine schoolwork will not seem a priority any longer, though I hope young Miss Weasley finds it in her heart to continue on when she is able."

"It might take a while, but she will," Charlie spoke up. "I'll make sure she does; it's what Mum and Dad would have wanted."

As he spoke, he gently pulled Ginny's arms from around his midsection, stood up and set her down on the couch. She whimpered, and Ron got up from the armchair to take his brother's place, tucking an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close against him.

Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn't wake.

Charlie, satisfied that she would sleep on for a while longer, laid a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Look after her, little brother," he said quietly. "She's all we have, now."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears at the stark truth the oldest Weasley had spoken, and she saw McGonagall was blinking quickly as she waited by the door.

Clearing his throat, Charlie walked over to Hermione and put his hand on her shoulder briefly.

"Thank you for staying with them, Hermione," he said.

She nodded. "I'm so sorry, Charlie."

He smiled sadly and left with McGonagall.

Hermione sat sideways on the couch, her back against the armrest on the opposite side of Ron from Ginny. His hand was rubbing his sister's back almost unconsciously, and he was staring unseeing across the room. Every so often, as Hermione watched, a single tear welled at the corner of his eye and trailed down his cheek to form a small, wet patch on his shirt. He made no attempt to wipe them away.

Reaching out to him, Hermione laid her hand gently on his back, between his shoulder blades.

"I hate this silence," he said after some minutes. "It's making me think too much."

"Do you want me to talk?" Hermione asked. "I could if it would help… though I don't know what to say."

She was saved from having to make conversation, though, when the door opened again and Harry stepped into the room. A quick glance at his hands told Hermione he must have left the _Prophet_ with the Headmaster.

He crossed the room silently and sat down in the empty armchair, his gaze lingering on Ginny's sleeping form for a moment.

"What did Dumbledore say?" Ron asked, glad to have something else to focus on for a moment, but Harry shook his head.

"This isn't the time to talk about it," he said. "For now, just let me say he'll pay for what he's done – Voldemort will. I swear that."

Hermione and Ron exchanged slightly frightened glances at the absolute calm in Harry's tone, but were distracted from having to answer when Ginny woke, sitting up suddenly and staring around in confusion.

She looked at each of them in turn, and then sighed, rubbing her face tiredly with her hands.

"I thought maybe if I went to sleep, when I woke up it would have all gone away." She looked at her brother with a pleading expression on her face. "It's real, isn't it?"

Ron nodded, and she lowered her head only to look up again quickly.

"Where's Charlie?"

There was a panicked note in her voice.

"He's with Professor McGonagall," Ron said. "They're just sorting out some things."

"What things?"

Ron looked away, and Ginny turned to Hermione for an answer.

"Arrangements," she finally said.

Realisation dawned on Ginny's face, and with it came more tears.

"The b- b- burial," she sobbed. "Oh, Ron, how are we going to get through this?"

Hermione looked on as Ron pulled Ginny against him again, hugging her tightly. His face was a mask of anguish as he said, "We'll manage, Gin."

It was clear he didn't believe what he was saying, and he added softly, "We'll have to."

Turning to Harry, Hermione saw an agonized expression on his face, too, and realised he was probably being reminded of his own parents. He'd never been able to attend their funeral – he had been too young to remember, anyway, but they had been buried in the wizarding world, near their home, and Harry's aunt and uncle had wanted no part in the matter. Though Harry had barely known his parents when they died, he hadn't been able to say goodbye.

Ron, Ginny and Charlie would have that, at least.

Some time later, Charlie returned alone, and stood silently for a moment after closing the door behind him. Hermione stood up, beckoning Harry to follow her, and they stepped away from the others as Charlie crossed the room and sank onto the couch beside his siblings.

Watching from across the room as the three of them hugged each other and Charlie finally broke down and cried, a sudden image came into Hermione's mind of the Weasleys on holiday in Egypt almost five years ago. The realisation that these three broken young people were all that was left of the once exuberant, fun-loving family almost winded her, and she gasped audibly, earning Harry's attention.

"Hermione?" he asked questioningly, his gaze darting from her back to the three Weasleys.

"I think we should go," she managed to say. "They need time alone."

He nodded in agreement, and they slipped quietly out of the room, leaving the others to grieve in peace.

They wandered aimlessly through the corridors for some time, but there were students about now, and Harry seemed to loathe to be confronted by any of them. More than once, he turned abruptly in another direction if he spotted someone heading towards them.

Eventually, he sighed and said, "Will you be all right if I leave you for a while? I think I just need some time, too… you know?"

She nodded and tried to smile.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I wish I could sleep – I'm so tired – but I don't think that's likely to happen soon. Besides, there's something I think I should do first."

Harry eyed her speculatively, correcting interpreting her words.

"Will you see Malfoy?"

"I don't know. I expect he might be there."

She watched her friend as he eyed the ground between them for a moment, and then looked up again, his jaw set.

"If you do see him... could you tell him I was wrong?"

Hermione tried and failed to hide her surprise, but then nodded. He wasn't asking her to apologise – she doubted he would ever go so far as that – but admitting he had jumped to the wrong conclusion was a significant step.

They parted with a quick hug, and on the way down to the first floor, Hermione stopped and turned at the sound of someone calling her name.

Susan Bones hurried along the corridor towards her, a fearful look on her freckled face. When the Hufflepuff reached her, Hermione was surprised to find herself suddenly being tightly hugged.

"Oh, Hermione," she said. "We all heard the news at breakfast. Poor Ron and Ginny. Hogsmeade is terrible, but their whole family! I can't believe it!"

"I wish it wasn't true," Hermione replied as the other girl released her.

"Oh, but tell Ron and Ginny we're thinking of them, will you?" she went on, and Hermione nodded. "And you, too, of course. You were so close to them all."

"Thanks, Susan," she said, managing to leave the other girl behind after another hug and a reassurance that 'we're all there for you if you need anything'.

Hermione was stopped half a dozen more times by classmates before she finally reached the first floor corridor, and by that time she felt like crawling into an alcove and crying again. The enquires and condolences for her friends and herself were genuine, and she knew her classmates all meant well. Everyone knew she was close to the whole family – the knitted jumper she wore every Christmas was proof enough of that – but hearing the same sympathetic words from every person she passed was wearing her down.

Finally stopping outside the door to the hidden passage and Severus' quarters, she paused for a moment and leant against the opposite wall to gather her thoughts and calm her roiling emotions.

"Having a bad day, dearie?"

She looked up, startled, to find the portrait of Ignatia Wildsmith regarding her with a frown; never, in all her visits to this corridor and through the nearby door, had the little witch spoken.

"You could say that," she sighed.

"It's early yet, and there's plenty of time for it to get worse."

The witch smiled nastily at her stunned expression, and she scowled at the portrait, pulled out her wand and entered the hidden corridor.

* * *

Snape wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the photograph adorning the front page of the _Prophet_ – already the second edition for the day despite it not even being eleven o'clock. A grave-faced Dumbledore had brought the newspaper to him a short time ago and then left to attend to other matters.

On the couch opposite the armchair where he sat, Draco was stretched out, finally and thankfully asleep after reliving the events of the night twice, first to him and then again to the Headmaster in even greater, horrific detail.

He supposed he should be thankful the boy hadn't been forced to kill with his own hand, but it was little consolation. Still, after seeing Draco break down as he described trying to maintain an impassive expression while his father used a hex to slit an old man's throat, Snape would take any consolation offered.

The sound of the door opening behind him roused him from his thoughts, and he glanced around to see Hermione standing just inside the room.

He stood and raised a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. She looked beyond him, focusing on the still form of Draco for a moment, and then nodded.

Folding the parchment of the _Prophet_, Snape beckoned for her to follow him into the bedroom so they could talk without disturbing the sleeping Slytherin.

Snape closed the door quietly after ushering her in ahead of him, and he turned back to regard her, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and her pale, blotchy cheeks.

She didn't quite meet his eyes, and then he saw her gaze drift to the _Prophet_, still in his hand. Albus had told him both she and Harry had already seen the earlier edition, but that didn't stop Hermione's eyes from filling with tears at the sight of it.

Cursing himself silently, he set it aside, out of her line of sight, and took her chin gently in one hand, tilting her head up so she would meet his eyes.

She did, and the concern he was unable to keep from showing on his face was all it took for her composure to crumble; she bowed her head as the tears started spilling down her cheeks.

"Oh, Hermione," he murmured, pulling her tightly against his body. She clung to him as the torrent of emotions finally came flooding out; it was to be expected, especially if she'd been holding herself together all morning as she had earlier in Albus' office, when they first received the news.

Hating the feeling of helplessness that came with the knowledge he could do nothing to ease her pain, he held her until her tears subsided, and she slumped against him, exhausted from the shock and distress of the last twelve hours.

Still supporting her, he led her the half-dozen steps to the chair in front of the window and sat down, pulling her with him to sit sideways across his lap.

He purposely sat so she was facing away from the window; although it had been hours since the Hogsmeade attack, small plumes of smoke could still be seen rising beyond the Forbidden Forest.

She leant against him in silence for a while, an occasional tear still escaping her eyes and dampening the collar of his shirt.

"I'm so sick of crying," she whispered hoarsely after a while. "My throat hurts and my eyes hurt, and I have a terrible headache, but every time I think I've managed to pull myself together, something happens that reminds me of… of them, or someone asks me how _I_ am, and it starts all over again."

She rubbed her eyes and went on tearfully, "Anyone would think I'm the one who's lost my family."

Snape was silent for a moment, combing his fingers through her hair, which was tangled and snagged, probably not having seen a brush for a day.

"You were very close to them," he said carefully. "And even as Mr and Miss Weasley's friend, people will be concerned for you as well as them."

"I know… I just…" She wiped her eyes again and sat up a little to look at him. "I just feel so helpless."

"As do we all in these times," he said honestly. "But I would not underestimate the support you've given your friends today."

"I haven't been able to do _anything_, though," she said, leaning against him again. "Ron just sits there, numb – I seem to have cried more than he has – and Ginny just clings to Charlie. She was terrified when she woke up and found him gone for a while this morning. And Charlie himself… I don't even know him that well, but he seems just to be holding it together for the sake of the others. I can't _do_ anything that might offer them comfort, and what am I supposed to say? I'm sorry?" She shook her head helplessly.

"Everyone handles grief in different ways," he reminded her. "Just being with them is enough. Where are they now?"

"The Room of Requirement. Harry and I left when Charlie came back from the Ministry; they needed some time just as a family… what's left of one," she finished quietly.

Snape nodded understandingly, choosing to ignore her last words. She seemed to calm slightly with questions, almost as though she could stick to the facts and detach herself from the situation a bit.

"And what of Potter?"

"He's someone I think I _have_ been able to help," she said. "I found him outside after he stormed out earlier, and we had a long talk. I told him how frightened I was that he would do something stupid – play right into Voldemort's hands. I said he needs to wait, let Voldemort think he hasn't been provoked, and then strike on _our_ terms – _Harry's_ terms – with us behind him.

Snape found himself impressed with her logic, especially in such circumstances; he, too, had been hoping Potter's questionable impulse control would not lead them all into a confrontation with Voldemort, unprepared and undermanned.

"And did he listen to reason?" Snape asked.

Hermione nodded. "He's still angry and hurt, and he doesn't want to wait much longer, but yes, he listened."

"That's something, then," he murmured, releasing a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"He also asked me to apologise to Malfoy if I saw him."

Snape raised an eyebrow, and Hermione actually gave him a small smile.

"That was my reaction at first, too," she said. "He knows he was wrong – he just didn't think, and can you blame him, after the news he had just received?"

Snape didn't comment, but he was nonetheless pleased. It was one less argument to be resolved.

"How is Draco?" Hermione asked.

"Exhausted." Snape sighed, closing his own eyes for a moment. Despite having slept for a few hours between news of the two attacks, he felt as though he'd been awake for days on end.

"At least he's asleep," she said softly.

"Not naturally," he corrected. "Against my better judgement, I've given him a dose of Dreamless Sleep. He needs rest before he will be able to control his emotions sufficiently to go out into the rest of the school."

"I can't even imagine what he's been through," she murmured.

"He performed admirably, given what he had to face. It is not my place to tell anyone – even you – what he witnessed, but suffice to say he successfully convinced both his father and the Dark Lord that he supported the activities of the night."

Hermione swallowed. "That must have taken more courage than I could ever muster."

"Yes," Snape said. "He has certainly changed this year. I'm very proud of him."

He had done what he could to prepare Draco to face Voldemort, but until the boy was standing before the tyrant, there was no telling how he would perform. Controlling his emotions in a comfortable, private lesson was one thing; doing so while standing before Voldemort, after having witnessed a mass killing spree, was entirely another thing. Snape had feared Draco would not be able to convince the Dark Lord of his false loyalty, and it was with a sense of relief – albeit mingled with sorrow for the other event of the night – that he had welcomed the boy's return to Hogwarts.

"Have you read the paper?" Hermione asked after a long silence.

It seemed an innocuous question, but Snape knew better. She'd seen him with the _Prophet_, and there was an odd tone in her voice as she spoke.

"Not all of it," he admitted. "I've avoided the casualties list thus far, though Albus spoke of it a little when he came down earlier."

"How bad is it?"

He sighed. She would know sooner or later, he supposed.

"Sixty-two confirmed deaths in Hogsmeade, though that is expected to rise."

"God," she whispered.

Then, after a beat, "Can I see the list?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Hermione," he admonished.

"Please?" she asked, sitting up again. "I think… I know it's going to be bad, but I think I'd rather know the facts than speculate about it."

He traced a finger around his lips, considering her request. He couldn't stop her from seeing the _Prophet_ eventually, of course, and she did have a point. Facts, as gruesome at they might be, were often less disturbing that one's own imagination.

"If you're sure," he finally said. "Come back into the other room, though. I should keep an eye on Draco; even with such a powerful sleeping potion, particularly vivid dreams can still break through."

They returned to the sitting room, Snape retrieving the newspaper on the way. Draco was still asleep, and so he returned to the armchair where he'd been sitting when Hermione arrived. Frowning in thought for a moment, he withdrew his wand from a pocket and muttered a spell to widen the chair slightly. It wasn't that he minded her sitting in his lap, but now wasn't really the time or place, not with Draco present.

Satisfied, he sat down and beckoned for her to join him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she snuggled close to his side.

Hesitating once more, the _Prophet_ still rolled up in one hand, he asked, "Are you sure?"

She nodded, and he unfurled the parchment, holding it up so both of them could see it.

The front page was similar to that of the earlier edition, according to Hermione, and he had already read it in any case. They turned over to page three, which had the current list of known casualties, tiny pictures beside most of the names.

Hermione traced a finger over each photograph as she softly spoke the person's name.

"I know so many of them," she said quietly, her voice thick with tears again.

He murmured a word of agreement; many were familiar faces for him, too. The barman at the Three Broomsticks, the tailor from Gladrags, three members of the Scrivenshaft family, makers of some of the finest quills in the country… none of them he would call friends, but all had been long-time acquaintances, having lived so close to the wizarding town for almost twenty years.

Near the bottom of the page, Snape spotted the name and picture of the old apothecarist, and beside it, as Hermione's hand moved across the page…

"I recognise her," Hermione said. "Who is she?"

Snape swallowed, trying to dislodge the sudden lump that had grown in his throat.

"The apothecarist's niece," he finally said. "She works- _worked_… in the shop with him."

"Ah, that's right." Hermione seemed not to notice the odd tone in his voice, and she went on to the next page and another row of pictures.

Snape's eyes lingered on the witch at the bottom of the page for a moment before he resolutely turned his gaze away, unwilling to examine the strange feeling that had come over him upon seeing her name and face on that list. Instead, he stared across the room, keeping his mind and face carefully blank as Hermione continued to softly read out the names of all those lost.

Last on the list were the six Weasleys, the happy faces of their photographs a stark contrast to the emotions seeing those pictures brought on in Hermione. Her finger tracing the face of each red-haired person in turn, before she brought her hands to her own face and broke down again.

Snape took the opportunity to take the _Prophet_ from her hands, folding it and placing it on the floor by his side of the chair. The back page, which she had yet to see, contained a large photograph of the Burrow some time after the attack. The ruins of the familiar building, and the accompanying article giving more details on the attack, wasn't something he wished her to see… not yet.

"I hadn't finished reading that," she finally said, wiping her eyes and looking around for the paper.

He sighed.

"I think that's enough, for now.

"Why?" she protested. "I know what's happened. Nothing can be worse than seeing all those pictures and realising the people in them no longer exist."

"Please, Hermione," he said. "No more today; it's already been far too trying. It's only early, but do you think you can sleep for a while? Unless you wish to go back to your friends?"

She shook her head.

"I think they need today together as a family… what's left of it, and Harry needs some time, too. I'll stay here, but I don't think I could sleep."

Snape took her chin in his hand, appraising the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes.

"You're almost as exhausted as Draco," he said finally. "You know I don't normally condone it, but perhaps a small dose of Dreamless Sleep might also help you."

She looked uncertain for a moment, but then nodded gratefully.

"Not too much, though," she said. "I don't want to sleep for too long in case anyone needs me, but it might help with my headache."

"I'll give you something for that, too," he said, standing up and going to the lab to retrieve the potions. A glance at Draco as he passed showed that the boy was still sleeping peacefully… for now.

When he came back into the sitting room, Hermione had retrieved the paper from the floor beside the chair, and was reading the back page, tears streaming down her face.

He cleared his throat, cursing himself for not taking it with him, and she gasped out a sob, meeting his gaze guiltily.

"I'm sorry. I had to know."

Setting the phials carefully on the coffee table, he sat down beside them, facing her.

"And are you glad you know?"

She shook her head.

He sighed and stood up, taking the parchment from her hands and setting it aside for the second time. Picking up the phials again, he extended his free hand to her.

"Come on, let's get you to bed for a while."

She rose to her feet listlessly and allowed him to lead her into the other room. After giving her the phial of headache potion, he helped her out of her shoes, jeans and shirt. He crossed the room to draw the curtains closed as she shrugged out of her bra, but left her singlet top on, and climbed into bed.

Returning to her side, he sat on the edge of the bed and held out the second phial to her. She took it from him, but didn't drink it immediately. After a moment, she shifted forwards and wrapped her arms around him at an awkward angle, resting her head sideways on his shoulder.

"Severus, what's going to happen now?" she whispered.

Snape turned so he could embrace her properly, rubbing one hand slowly up and down her back. He was silent for some time, knowing what her question meant but unsure how to answer. As much as he wanted to offer false niceties to relieve her troubled mind, he found it impossible to give her anything but the truth.

"I think," he said finally, "this is the beginning of the end."

She let out a small sob, and he held her more tightly, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.

Snape drew back after a moment, gesturing to the phial still clenched in her hand, and she wiped her eyes before unstoppering it and drinking the contents quickly.

Taking the empty phial from her as she settled back into the pillows, sleep already starting to take hold, he brushed her hair back from her face, his hand lingering on her tear-stained cheek for a moment.

She was already asleep, and so when he stood up, he murmured to himself, "We'll just have to make sure it ends well."

* * *

**To be continued**

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! Some of you speculated that it was the Weasleys who had met their end – well done!_

_Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta, Potion Mistress, who literally drops everything to work on this story and get each chapter back to me in record time… well, except for that time I loaned Snape to her for the weekend…_


	40. Keayney

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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The next few days were some of the darkest Snape could remember in a long time. Now, though, it wasn't because of the ominous threat of Voldemort, which had been lingering over him for a good portion of his life. The days were dark because of the overwhelming despair he could see in Hermione – someone who had brought so much light to his own life as of late - and his helplessness at being unable to alleviate her pain.

Hermione was still asleep when Draco woke late Wednesday afternoon, rested, but still looking as though a heavy weight was bearing down on his shoulders; the weight of knowledge, Snape suspected. He knew it well.

They spoke of what had happened again, more coherently than earlier in the day, but when Snape mentioned Potter's quasi-apology for his behaviour in the Headmaster's office, Draco brushed it off, saying quietly he deserved every bit of ire from the remaining Weasleys or anyone close to them.

"I should have known," he said bitterly. "I should have asked what was planned. No one would have thought it odd that I was eager to know, given Father's eagerness for such things."

"And how would you have felt," Snape returned, "having known and still been unable to stop it?"

The boy was silent for a moment.

"I might have found a way," he finally said, though he didn't meet Snape's eyes.

"No, you couldn't," Snape said, shaking his head. "And believe me, Draco, knowing and being unable to stop something is far worse than not knowing until after the event."

Draco went back to the Slytherin common room at the conclusion of their conversation a short time later, determined to put on a brave face in front of the school and, behind closed dungeon doors, appear pleased with the success of his father and the elder Malfoy's comrades.

Snape knew it would be a long time before Draco would be able to forgive himself for not being able to help, though. In a way, though not so personally, the Slytherin had been just as affected by the events of Beltane Eve as Hermione and Potter. Unlike them, however, the Slytherin Head Boy wasn't able to show it. No one expected him to be upset over the attacks. Indeed, many of his fellow Slytherins probably expected him to be boasting of their success.

He might have suggested Draco do just that, for the purposes of illusion, if the boy could convincingly say he had enjoyed it. Now that it had all sunk in, though, and he had personally seen the effects such an attack had on those left behind, simply appearing pleased would be hard enough already.

As Snape turned from the fireplace after Draco's departure, his stomach rumbled loudly, and he realised that it was almost dinnertime and neither he nor Hermione had eaten since the previous night.

Striding into the bedroom, he found her still asleep, lying on her back with one outflung arm hanging over the edge of the bed. Watching her deep, even breathing for a moment, he reconsidered his intention to wake her. Who knew when she would next be able to sleep – without the aid of a potion, she would find it difficult to calm her mind enough to do so.

Instead, he went back into the sitting room, ordered some sandwiches for himself – and her, if she awoke later - then retrieved a book from his desk and returned to the bedroom. Setting the plate of food on the bedside cabinet, he toed off his shoes and sat on the bed beside her, stretching out with his back against the headboard.

Hermione slept on, though, and it was only just before eight o'clock, when Snape had long since finished his fill of sandwiches (though the plate kept refilling itself anyway) and set his book aside, that she finally began to stir.

Shifting onto her side and curling up, a grimace of some nightmare-induced pain or fear clouded her face. Raising himself up on one elbow from where he had lain down beside her, Snape contemplated waking her.

As much as she needed sleep, it would do nothing to relax her or recover her drained emotional strength if her slumber was filled with nightmares. When a soft whimper broke from her and her face creased further, he reached out laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione," he murmured, squeezing her shoulder gently.

She woke with a startled cry and sat bolt upright, looking wildly around for a moment before realising where she was. Visibly relaxing as she met his eyes, she heaved a deep sigh and sank back beside him.

"I must have been dreaming."

"You were," he said. "I'm sorry, but I thought it best to wake you."

She furrowed her brow for a moment, as though trying to recall her dream, but then nodded and exhaled a shaky breath.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A while," he replied. "I was going to wake you earlier. Are you hungry? You can't have eaten all day."

"I haven't," she admitted, "but I'm not hungry. I feel…" She paused, searching for the right word, then lowered her eyes and continued softly, "I feel strange, doing all these normal things – eating, drinking, sleeping – when they will never do those things again…"

She trailed off again and raised her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"I just…" she tried again, "How can anything ever be normal again?"

Hermione looked up at him searchingly… did she think he had the answer to such a question, that he knew anything about normality?

"Normal is an illusion," he said quietly. "An illusion that occurs when one becomes comfortable with a recurring situation. In a world such as ours, where so many things may happen by chance, and in times such as these, when life is more fragile than ever, normality simply does not exist."

She stared at him for a moment longer, and then turned her head away, twisting the edge of the duvet – which she lay under and he on top of – between her fingers.

"I just wish it could be like it was," she whispered, and in the semi-darkness he saw a single tear escape past her lowered lashes.

_Like it was_, he pondered. He knew what she meant; she wished the whole Weasley family was still alive, and that the Hogsmeade attack had never happened… but what about before that?

Did she wish for the relatively carefree life she had known prior to this school year? She most certainly wished her parents were still able to live in their home, and in their home country. Would she give up the few good things that had happened since then in exchange for a return to so-called normality?

_Don't be stupid_, he scolded himself. _She'd give you up in a heartbeat to have her parents back in the country, to see the Weasleys alive and well._

Was it wrong of him to wish that wasn't so?

As trying as the past months had been, the frustration of his confinement and the threat of Voldemort looming ever closer, some good had come of the hand that chance and fate had dealt him. Though he would never admit it aloud, there had been times in the last few months when he had actually considered himself to be more or less content… even happy.

Normality for him previously meant teaching students who didn't care to listen, carrying out the orders of two masters, bound to one through obligation, another through stupidity, and constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering if this day, this attack, this meeting would be his last.

Now, though, his normality was simply Hermione. She was the constant, always there with him, or nearby, at least. Draco, the Headmaster and a few select others were still part of the equation, but Hermione was the one who could always be relied upon to be there when he needed her, to calm him, talk him down, or merely sit and listen while he ranted, raved and lamented.

She was someone to hold, and she could lean on him as he could her; she had seen him at his best and worst, laughing, crying, and been the object of both his affection and his rage. And most of all, she loved him as much as he loved her.

Would he give up their journey, go back to the way things were, in exchange for the lives that had been lost along the way?

It would be horribly selfish not to… yet he was thankful it was a hypothetical question.

If only they could have the best of both worlds.

Snape was drawn from his thoughts when Hermione sat up, wiped her eyes and climbed out of bed, padding across the room in her knickers and singlet to retrieve her clothes, neatly folded on the chair.

"What are you doing?" he questioned.

"I think I should go and check on everyone," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I haven't seen them since this morning."

"I don't think you're in any shape to be wandering about the castle," he admonished.

"I'm fine," she said, pulling the still-buttoned robe over her head only to become tangled up in the garment because one of the sleeves was inside out.

"You most certainly are not fine, Hermione," he countered, getting up and crossing to where she stood wrestling with the robe from within.

He drew it back up over her head and set about unbuttoning it. She watched in silence, and when he was done, he held it out for her to slip her arms into. Turning her around to face him again, he buttoned the robe, his gaze not leaving hers.

"I just want to see that they're all right," she tried to explain. "Well, perhaps not all right – how could they be? But that they're… there's nothing I can do for them… please?"

He sighed. "You don't need my permission to go. Am I not simply allowed to be concerned for you?"

She lowered her head again, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

Snape finished the final button, just above her breastbone, and laid both hands on her shoulders for a moment.

"Go," he said. "I'm sure they'll be grateful for your company; stay with them if they need you, and if not, you know you're most welcome to return here."

She managed a small smile and embraced him briefly, a soft word of thanks muffled against his shirt.

"I'll Floo to my room, I think," she said quietly as he followed her out into the sitting room. "It's closer to the Room of Requirement; I know I'll still have to go through the common room, but hopefully I won't run into too many people."

He nodded sympathetically and saw Hermione take a deep breath and set her shoulders before disappearing in the green flames.

* * *

An hour later, though it was still relatively early, the long, emotionally draining day was finally starting to catch up to Snape, too. Assuming Hermione would be spending the night with her friends, Snape stripped out of his clothes and crawled into bed, waving a tired hand towards the window to open the curtains slightly. The night sky was cloudy, the darkness heavy, but at least the light would wake him in the morning. Though he rarely slept longer than a few hours, tonight he felt he could sleep for days.

He roused groggily a while later when he heard the Floo beyond the bedroom door, and then Hermione calling out softly as she entered the room and closed it quietly behind her.

"Hmm?" He rolled over as she sat on the edge of the bed, toed off her shoes and pulled her robe over her head.

"Did I wake you?" she whispered, pulling back the edge of the duvet and climbing in beside him.

"No, I was just dozing."

She scooted closer to him and let out a soft gasp of surprise, and it was only then he woke up fully and realised he was without a stitch of clothing.

"I didn't think you'd be coming back," he started to apologise, pulling away from her. "Let me-"

"No, don't be silly," she said, halting his move to get up.

He stared at her for a moment, and she blushed and looked away.

"That is, if you want to…?" She trailed off, looking at him questioning, but he simply swallowed and nodded.

"Of course."

At that, she pushed aside the duvet again and climbed out of bed. He followed her movement across the room, his confusion disappearing as he saw her slip out of the rest of her clothes, drop them on the chair and turned back. There was barely a moment to take in the sight of her padding softly across the floor before she reached the bed and crawled in next to him again.

She snuggled close, and her skin was cold as she hooked one leg around his and pillowed her head on his shoulder, resting against him with a sigh.

It was a mark of how tired he was that his body failed to react to her pressed up against him in such a way. Not that she would welcome such a thing tonight… she wanted to be close for comfort, and if his presence brought that to her, he would give whatever small measure he could.

"'s better," she murmured, though he noticed she was trembling slightly; it wasn't cold tonight.

He wrapped an arm around her back and pulled the duvet more securely around them both, right up to her chin.

"How are your friends?" he asked quietly.

"Sleeping," she said, her voice muffled by her hair, which had fallen forwards across her face and his chest. "Madam Pomfrey saw them earlier today, so the Headmaster said, and insisted they all take sleeping potions tonight, even Charlie. He didn't look too happy being bossed around, but I think he was too tired to protest."

"It's a sound idea," he reasoned. "I doubt any of them would have slept without it, and certainly not restfully. Another day without sleep wouldn't help, either."

She nodded against him.

"I know. I'm actually glad they're asleep… it's the only peace they'll get for a long time now."

He didn't say anything immediately, because he couldn't bring himself to contradict the truth. The three remaining Weasleys – each bubbly and well-liked in their own ways – would be changed people now that the war had hit them personally. It left none whom it touched so closely unscarred.

"It will be easier once the funeral is over, I would imagine," he said eventually. "It will be a closure, of sorts. As doubtful as it seems at the moment, you _will_ all be able to move on from this."

She was silent, and he sighed. Perhaps it was too early to try to bring reason into the equation yet. There was no reason, after all, to what had happened to the Weasleys the previous night.

"Do you need another sleeping draught?" he asked.

"No, it's all right. I think I might be able to sleep for a bit. I still feel like I haven't slept for days."

Hermione yawned and shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position where she could put her head on the pillow beside his.

Turning on his side to face her, he pulled her close and tucked her head under his chin. It was a poor attempt to shield her from the pain of the outside world, but it was the best he could do… all he could do.

"Don't ever leave me, Severus."

The word were mumbled, perhaps not even intended aloud as sleep took hold of her, but they brought a sudden, sharp ache to his chest, and he didn't trust his voice to answer.

Eventually, he followed her into restless sleep, both of them waking several times in the darkness with no knowledge of the dream – or nightmare – which had pulled them from their sleep. Still, Hermione's presence had always managed to keep away the worst of the dreams for him, and tonight it seemed he was able to at least do the same for her.

* * *

The Weasleys' funeral took place on the Saturday following their deaths, and unlike many of the other funerals occurring that weekend for the victims of the Hogsmeade attack, theirs wasn't announced in the _Daily Prophet_. Nonetheless, over a hundred witches and wizards turned out to mourn the members of the well-loved family and support those left behind.

A sweeping hill overlooking rugged moors and the windswept north-west coast of Wales was to be the final resting place of the family, joining their matriarch's ancestors. The burial site of Mr Weasley's ancestors, Charlie explained in a hollow tone that morning, had been ransacked when their great-grandfather lost much of the family fortune a hundred and fifty years ago.

So it came to pass that Molly Weasley and her family would be buried alongside her brothers, Gideon and Fabian, who had died in the first war against Voldemort, and the last six generations of the Prewett family before them.

Hermione, wearing plain black dress robes, arrived at the bottom of the hillside burial site with the three remaining Weasleys, Harry and Professor McGonagall. The Ministry had arranged warding spells around the area, and Portkeys for all those who wished to attend, so no one uninvited could come within a good mile of the site. It was unthinkable that anyone would dishonour a burial… but Voldemort and his servants had sunk far below that already, and even with the protective spells, there was an air of unease about the place.

The sheer volume of people who turned out to farewell the well-loved family astounded Hermione; the entire Order was there, as well as a good portion of the Ministry; as many of the Hogwarts teachers who were able to leave the school also came, and Hermione recognised many past students, too, particularly those who had been in the same years as Fred and George or Percy.

Never having been to a wizard burial before, Hermione had no idea what to expect. It was one of the few topics she hadn't studied, either; one of the downfalls of the Hogwarts curriculum was, while it offered Muggle Studies to teach witches and wizards about the other lifestyle, no such class was offered to acclimatise Muggleborn students to the rituals and practices of the wizarding world, simple things which purebloods and half-bloods took for granted.

Hermione stood between Harry and Ginny, watching the crowd gather around them, and McGonagall stepped away to stand with some Order members who had gathered nearby. Last to arrive was Dumbledore, who was wearing soft, cream-coloured robes, his long white beard blowing slightly to one side in the soft breeze.

The waiting crowd quieted as Dumbledore approached the tight-knit group of Charlie, Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione. The three Weasleys moved wordlessly, turning to face the hill.

"Harry, Hermione," Dumbledore said quietly as he came to a stop in front of the group, "will you join your friends, please?"

Hermione looked to Harry in confusion, but he shrugged and took her arm, and they both stepped up beside Charlie, forming a row of five.

There was movement behind them, and Hermione looked over her shoulder to see the crowd gathering closer behind them.

"Let us begin," Dumbledore said.

Seemingly from nowhere, he was suddenly holding a tall pillar candle, unlit and pure white. He handed it to Ron, standing at the opposite end of the line to Hermione. The red-haired boy accepted it solemnly, bowing his head. Procuring another identical candle, Dumbledore handed it to Ginny, who also bowed her head upon taking it.

Moving past Charlie, the Headmaster went to Hermione next, and handed the third candle to her. She looked at him in confusion for a moment before accepting it, lowering her eyes to the ground as she had seen the others do.

Dumbledore repeated the process again with Harry, and finally Charlie, who, as the head of the family now, was given two. Retreating three or four steps, Dumbledore drew his wand and the candles suddenly sprang to life. Eerily, though the day was still quite bright, a shadowy veil suddenly seemed to obscure the sun, and Hermione looked across at her friends to see their faces illuminated by the bright light of the candles.

Turning his back to them, the Headmaster began chanting, a low, droning of repetitive words Hermione could hear but not understand. Raising his arms in a gesture of welcome or perhaps invocation, he began the long climb up the gentle slope towards the burial site. After a moment's pause, Charlie started off after him, and the others followed with slow, measured steps.

The crowd of mourners kept close behind them as they walked, but all was silent but for the Headmaster's voice carrying back to them, the soft rustle of the long grass rippling in the breeze, and the occasional crackle of the tiny flames, unhindered by the wind. Hermione stumbled on an unseen rock in the long grass, and felt a hand briefly grip her arm, disappearing when she had regained her footing.

Turning her head, she saw Malfoy just behind her and off to one side, tucking his arm back within the folds of his cloak.

Severus had been frustrated and angry he wasn't able to attend the funeral, both to support Hermione and to farewell the Weasleys himself. He knew it would be foolish to attend, even disguised by perhaps Polyjuice or Harry's cloak again, and Hermione didn't think the Ministry wards would admit anyone seeking to conceal themselves, anyway.

As a compromise, the Headmaster had decided Malfoy should attend, as Head Boy and a representative of the whole student body. It was a sound idea; if his father or Voldemort heard of it, he could merely say he was forced to attend, and he would be there to lend a carefully concealed hand to Hermione where Severus could not.

She gave the Head Boy a small smile, and then turned her attention back ahead of her to where the Headmaster had reached the top of the slope and turned, waiting for them to join him.

As they drew near, Hermione looked beyond the waiting Headmaster and focused on six, dark wood coffins sitting in the grass before six grey, engraved headstones. Any thought that she had mentally prepared herself sufficiently for the occasion vanished as the reality of the situation fully hit her for the first time.

Each coffin had a round indentation near the head and, following Charlie's lead, they set a candle atop each of them.

Now silent, Dumbledore moved and stood behind the headstones as Hermione and the others returned to the front of the crowd of people; so large was the gathering that it extended some way down the slope and around to form a rough semi-circle facing the coffins.

Hermione stood on one side of Ron, her arm linked in his to support him even as Charlie was doing the same on the other side. The oldest Weasley's other arm was clasped around Ginny's back and his shoulders were hunched over with grief. The once-outgoing young man seemed to have aged ten years since Wednesday, and Hermione wondered who would hold him up if he could no longer manage it himself. Harry stood at the opposite end of the line, clasping one of Ginny's hands tightly in his own.

Dumbledore raised his arms again and began to speak.

"My friends," he began. "We are gathered here today to farewell six of our number, stolen from us in the most arduous of circumstances. They are not the first we have lost in our fight against evil, nor, sadly, will they be the last, but none here today will deny that they were all wonderful, caring people who will be greatly missed by all whose paths they crossed."

The crowd behind them murmured in soft agreement, and Hermione looked sideways at Ron to see her friend holding his chin high, uncaring of who saw the tears on his face.

"Molly and Arthur were tireless workers and loving parents." Dumbledore's voice, though soft, carried across the crowd effortlessly. "They cared deeply for their children and welcomed others into their home like family. Bill, their oldest, was a highly intelligent young man, committed to his work and always eager to spend what time he could with his younger siblings on his rare visits home."

"Percy was a brilliant scholar, always striving academically for the best, his colleagues at the Ministry can vouch for his eagerness to continuously learn and improve. And what to say about Fred and George? The twins spent their lives making everyone around them laugh; they could bring humour to the gloomiest situation, even in dark times such as these. For all their wit, though, they loved their family and were seriously committed to defending our right to live freely, just as their parents and siblings were."

Dumbledore paused, glancing around the crowd of silent mourners.

"Indeed, the loss of one of them would have been a great tragedy; having all of them taken from us is indescribable, and our hearts ache for those who have been left behind."

He looked at each of the Weasleys in turn as he spoke, then at Hermione and Harry as well. Hermione could feel the watching eyes of the crowd on them, too.

"While the coming days seem dark for those closest to our dearly deceased," Dumbledore went on, "let it be known they have the love and support of a great many people. I take it upon myself to bid all of you to help and support them in any way you can, as I know Molly, Arthur and their children would have done for any of you in need."

Another murmur went through the crowd behind them, affirming the Headmaster's bidding.

"We have come a long way from home today, to lay our friends to rest with those who have gone before them…" He paused, turning for a moment to gesture towards the scattered graves about the top of the hill behind him. "…but let it be known that, while their bodies may rest on this silent hill, their souls shall go on to another place, and their spirits will be free to soar far on the wind, or linger close to those who knew them best, guiding them as they continue to live and fight for the freedom we all so desperately crave."

Hermione eyes blurred with sudden tears, and she tried to blink them away as Dumbledore raised his wand.

The strange veiled effect which still hung about the hill seemed to grow dimmer, the candles atop the coffins brighter. A mist of pearly grey sprang forth from the tip of the Headmaster's wand, swirling about him.

"Let their bodies return to the earth from whence they came." His voice rang out clear and the mist curled about the coffins. The candles rose of their own accord, floating above the wooden boxes as they began to sink slowly into the earth.

"Let their souls move on to the other place, where they might begin their next great adventure."

He swept his wand in a wide arc, and the swirling mist turned blue, gathering above the coffins and rising in a high spiral which faded into the blueness of the sky beyond the veiled haze.

Hermione's eyes were transfixed on the Headmaster and the magic he was weaving, unable to look away. She felt Ron sway slightly beside her, and she tightened her grip on his arm.

"Let their spirits linger close to those left behind, to comfort them in their times of need. And when their work here is done, let them be free."

Dumbledore raised his wand again, and another mist appeared, brilliant white and hovering just above the ground. As the tops of the wooden boxes vanished, sinking slowly into the ground, a sudden wind sprang up, and the mist rose and swirled outwards from the new graves, moving towards where Hermione stood with the others.

As the mist enveloped them, she could hear soft whispering, and although she strained to hear the words, it was as if they were just out of reach of her understanding. Nevertheless, she felt a strange comfort wash over her. Beside her, she heard Ron whisper almost inaudibly, "Goodbye."

On Ron's other side, Charlie was looking upwards, the rising mist illuminating the tears on his face. Ginny had her eyes closed, leaning heavily against her brother. Harry met Hermione's eyes, and she saw both the confusion and strange sense of peace she felt mirrored in his expression.

Dumbledore lowered his wand, the mist faded and the breeze stilled.

"May they rest in peace. _Ar dheis Dé go raibh a leat_."

The veil which had seemed to obscure the sun vanished at those strange words and the hovering candles lowered to sit atop the grey stone markers of the graves.

Hermione looked around, almost as if waking from a dream, and realised the crowd was turning to quietly move back down the hillside. She felt a brief squeeze of her arm as Malfoy moved from where he had been standing close behind her; she tried to smile gratefully, but managed little more than a grimace.

Dumbledore approached them, and laid a wrinkled hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"There will be a Portkey for you at the base of the hill when all is complete," he said quietly.

Charlie nodded silently, and the Headmaster continued on down the hill with the rest of the mourners.

Hermione wiped her eyes and looked to Ron in askance for what they were to do now.

"The farewell rite," he said softly, his voice thick. "The family of the deceased stay at the burial site until sundown."

She didn't ask any more, and they stood for a while longer, until all the people at the bottom of the hill had vanished. There was no sign of the Ministry presence, though Hermione suspected the wards would remain in place until they returned to Hogwarts.

Her attention was drawn back to others as they stepped up towards the graves together. She and Harry hung back as Ron and Ginny took the candle from each of the twin's graves, and Charlie took those from his parents'.

Charlie beckoned towards Hermione and Harry, then, inclining his head to the remaining candles.

"It's supposed to be family," she said softly.

"You _are_ family," Charlie said. "In all but blood. They would have wanted you here."

Still uncertain, Hermione looked to Ron and Ginny, who both nodded their agreement. Harry took Bill's candle, she reached out to take Percy's candle and they both joined the others, standing in a row, facing west.

They stood silently, the soft breeze coming up from the far-off, sparkling ocean, rippling their robes yet not touching the tiny flames of the candles.

Hermione reflected that she hadn't known Percy well at all, despite spending four years at school with him. And yet, he was the most like her out of all the brothers – studious and dedicated, eager to learn and sometimes too firm in his own opinion. Perhaps it was fitting, then, that she was the one to hold his candle and bid him farewell.

* * *

It was late that evening, after the farewell rites had been completed, when Hermione returned to Hogwarts with the remaining Weasleys, Harry and also Malfoy.

None of them had realised, while taking part in the silent, afternoon-long vigil, that the Head Boy had remained nearby at the Headmaster's request.

When the sun set, sinking into the sea on the western horizon, the candles had abruptly extinguished, marking the completion of their task. After a further moment of silence standing before the graves, they all linked arms and left the lonely, windswept hill for the growing shadows of the valley below.

Malfoy had appeared silently from the grove of trees at the base of the hill, holding a non-descript, broken china bowl - their Portkey back to Hogwarts.

No words were spoken, and when they all had a firm grasp, he tapped it with his wand, activating the spell, and the darkening green fields of Wales gave way to the sweeping lawns of the Hogwarts grounds and the castle looming nearby.

It seemed like hours later, though it was still was before midnight, when Hermione left her friends in the Room of Requirement, where they were still staying together as a family.

Though they had expressed no discomfort with her presence or Harry's, she still felt this was a time when they needed to be together – just the three of them. No matter how close to family Hermione and Harry had seemed, in the end, they were simply very good friends.

Like the night after the Weasleys' deaths, Harry had again expressed a desire to spend some time alone. It occurred to Hermione, after they had parted ways, that Harry was wondering what his own parents' funeral had been like… and who had stayed until sundown to complete the farewell ritual for them.

So, for want of anywhere else to go, Hermione found herself again walking down to the first floor and Severus' quarters. She knew she could go to him and let everything out… cry, scream, throw things… or simply curl up next to him and shut out the rest of the world for a few hours.

The long afternoon spent standing silently on the hillside had exhausted her; not physically, though her feet were tired, but the emotional drain and taking such an important and unexpected part in the afternoon had worn her down. She could only imagine how drained her friends were; Ginny had barely been able to stumble up the long staircases to the seventh floor when they had returned to the castle.

When she reached his quarters, though, only Malfoy was present, pacing in front of the window, and she stopped after closing the door, uncertain of what to do.

"Hermione?"

Somewhere in the course of the last few days, he'd stopped calling her Granger. Oddly enough, it didn't bother her in the slightest.

"Is… is Severus here?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"You just missed him. He's taken something he was working on up to Dumbledore. He said he wouldn't be long, though."

She bit her lip, trying to hold back the flood of tears she knew was imminent. She'd been expecting Severus to be here when she arrived, expecting to be able to throw herself into his arms and just let everything out.

Now, she would have to hold it back a while longer. Malfoy might have seen her crying on Wednesday morning, and at the funeral today, but she wouldn't break down in front of him alone; she was stronger than that.

"Hermione?"

Her name spoken again jolted her from her thoughts, and she realised Malfoy was standing in front of her, watching the warring emotions on her face with a strange expression.

"I think…" She paused and drew a shaky breath. "I'll just wait… until he gets back."

She made to step around Malfoy, intending to take up residence in one of the armchairs while she waited for Severus to return, but he grasped her arm gently. She stopped and looked up at him, startled.

"You're allowed to cry, you know," he said matter-of-factly, watching her carefully. "Merlin knows I would be, in your shoes."

She stared at him; the look of concern was foreign on his face, but somehow she knew it was nothing but genuine. He released her arm and took a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I, uh… I wish I'd been able to do something on Tuesday night to stop this," he said quietly. "I know it's too late now, but if there's anything… well, you can ask, anyway."

For some reasons, his combined apology and offer of a shoulder to lean on upset her even more. She tried to thank him and reaffirm that it hadn't been his fault, but nothing came out and she simply shook her head.

Thinking it was a refusal of his offer, he set his jaw and nodded, turning away from her and walking back to the window.

"Draco, I-" she started to say.

"What?" He continued staring out the window, though only the reflection of the room was visible in the absolute darkness outside.

"I'm… I… it doesn't matter," she said weakly, moving the few steps to the couch and sinking down into the corner of it, curling herself up tightly with her knees drawn up.

Unable to hold herself together any longer, she let her tears fall. The room was silent but for the soft crackling of the flames in the fireplace and her occasional hiccupping sobs. Malfoy didn't acknowledge her distress; facing away from the window where he stood, she began to wonder whether he was even still there. The thought of being completely alone and having alienated him when he was only trying to help made her cry even more.

By the time the Floo flared green and Severus arrived, her nose was blocked, her head was pounding and she could barely see. The more she tried to control the tears, the more they flowed; she knew it was ridiculous, that she was bordering on hysterical, but the rational side of her brain couldn't pull the rest of her together enough to calm down and stop.

"Hermione?"

She heard Severus' sharp inhalation and felt his presence beside her, bending over and brushing her hair out of her tear-stained face, but he was speaking to Malfoy.

"Draco, what happened?"

"Aside from the obvious fact that six people she almost considered family were buried this afternoon?" came the sarcastic reply from across the room.

Hermione let out a hiccupping sob at the bland description, and the next thing she knew, arms were lifting her from the tight ball she had formed on the couch and she was nestled tightly against Severus' chest as he sat down with her in his lap. It was only then she realised she was shaking, and that she couldn't seem to stop it.

"Draco, if you can't use some tact, make yourself useful," he snapped over the top of her head. "A phial of Calming Draught from the lab, if you please."

Hermione didn't hear what the Slytherin said in reply, but she did hear the lab door open as he went to retrieve the potion.

Severus was speaking softly - to her, she realised belatedly - and she tried to focus on his words.

"Hermione, calm down; take a breath," he murmured; one of his hands was rubbing soft, familiar circles on her back and the other was resting on her head, holding her carefully against him.

She tried to do as he instructed, but only ended up hiccupping again, and then coughing.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be there with you," he said, his tone coloured with regret. "I just couldn't see how…"

She shook her head against him, though she didn't trust her voice to reassure him she knew he would have been there if they could have found a way.

A door closed across the room, and Malfoy's quiet footfalls indicated his return with the potion. Hermione raised her head just enough to see him hand Severus a phial of the light-blue potion and then retreat to one of the armchairs opposite the couch.

"I didn't upset her," Hermione heard him say defensively. "At least, I didn't mean to. I was just trying to… I don't know… trying to help and doing a pathetic job of it, I suppose."

Severus sighed.

"Even I cannot help her at the moment, as much as it pains me to admit it."

At any other time, having them speak about her as though she wasn't there would have annoyed her greatly. Now, though, all that mattered was having Severus with her. Hermione felt his hand under her chin, and then the cool glass of the phial against her bottom lip.

"Drink," Severus instructed quietly. "Trust me; it will help."

She considered refusing it for a moment, the idea crossing her mind that he was trying to drug her into a false state of relaxation… but she knew his aversion to using potions as a means to suppress dreams and emotions. Only as a last resort, and being convinced it would genuinely help, would he offer it to her.

She drank and then settled back against him, closed her eyes as the potion took effect and a deep feeling of lethargy overcame her.

The room was quiet for some time; Hermione could feel Severus' chest rising and falling with each breath, lulling her almost to the point of sleep. The two men might have assumed she was asleep, too, because when Draco spoke again, it was almost in a whisper.

"I should go."

Even in such a quiet tone, Hermione could hear the reluctance in his voice. Severus, it seemed, caught it, too.

"You're welcome to stay here if you wish."

"No, I should leave you two, and I… she needs you."

"And you don't?" she heard Severus counter. "I thought you might have wished to talk over some things tonight?"

"I can talk down in the common room."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Severus said reproachfully.

Malfoy was quiet for a moment.

"How did you do it, cut yourself off from everyone for all those years?" he asked suddenly.

Severus sighed.

"I believed what I was doing was right."

"I think I'm doing the right thing, too," Malfoy replied. "That doesn't make doing it alone any easier, though."

"No," Severus agreed. "It doesn't make the yearning for companionship go away, but I believe it does made it somewhat easier to bear."

Hermione, still feigning sleep though she was more awake now than when their conversation had begun, resisted the urge to tighten her arms around Severus' waist.

Malfoy was silent again, and then Severus said, "I don't doubt you shall find companionship, Draco."

"With who?" he asked bitterly. "By the end of this war, I'll have alienated myself from almost everyone I grew up with, and those on 'our' side now will hardly trust me, even if we do win."

"You have your whole life ahead of you."

"I know," he sighed. "It would just be nice to have someone to… share the burden with now, I suppose. You know what I mean?"

Hermione felt Severus brush a lock of hair back from her face, and she could feel his eyes watching her, gauging whether she was asleep or not.

"Yes, I do," he finally said.

Malfoy exhaled a breath, which may have been a huff of amusement or annoyance – Hermione couldn't tell without opening her eyes and giving herself away – but she heard his robes rustle as he stood up.

"You really love her, don't you?"

His tone wasn't accusing, but merely held a mild disbelief upon finally seeing proof of what he had already been told.

"I do," Severus said after a moment, and she felt him exhale a breath, too, as thought a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Very much."

It was strange, hearing the two men speak so frankly to one another. Severus was an extremely private person; she had learnt that quickly, and even now she didn't pretend to know everything about him. To hear him admit his love for her to another person was heartening; it was an affirmation that he truly did care and wasn't ashamed to admit to it, either.

Despite her sorrow for everything else that had happened these past few days, at that moment she was finding it difficult to keep from smiling and giving away her knowledge of the conversation.

Malfoy huffed out another breath, this time one of clear amusement. "I suppose I'm not the first person to say I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it?"

Severus chuckled softly.

"Those two menaces Hermione calls friends haven't _seen it_, as you say, but she's had a hard time convincing them all this time spent around noxious potions fumes hasn't addled her brain."

She felt him brush at the hair hanging down across her face again, and he added fondly and a little perplexedly, "I really don't know quite how it came about myself."

This time Hermione couldn't hold back a smile, and she shifted, burying her head further into Severus' shirt to hide it as she pretended to slumber on.

"I better go," Malfoy said again. "I should write to Father and tell him Dumbledore made me go to funeral. No doubt he will have heard, but I think it's wiser to tell him before he has to ask."

"A good thought," Severus replied approvingly. "I daresay he will not be pleased."

"No one saw me stay behind with the Portkey, at least," the Slytherin said, and Hermione heard his footsteps move towards the fireplace. "I'll simply tell him my status as Head Boy required me to attend, and I was informed too late to send word."

"That should satisfy him adequately. Only tell him what you must."

Malfoy must have nodded his agreement of Severus' instruction, because the next sound Hermione heard was the whoosh of the Floo as the Head Boy left the room, followed by Severus' heavy sigh.

"Well," Severus said after a while. "We can't stay here all night; _I'm_ getting uncomfortable, at any rate. Are you awake?"

Something prevented her from answering and, after a moment, he murmured, "Obviously not."

Hooking one arm under her knees and the other more firmly behind her back, he stood up, lifting her with him, and carried her into the bedroom. He sat her up on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning and removing her robe with some difficultly while trying to prop her up as well.

She opened her eyes, watching as he cursed quietly at a particularly difficult button, and sat up straighter to alert him she had 'woken up' and could assist him.

"You _are_ awake," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "How long have you been pretending?"

"Not long." She blushed and looked away.

"In that case," he said, finally undoing the robe and pulling it out from under her, "you can manage to undress yourself."

She sighed and reached for the buttons on her blouse – she was still wearing the same formal robes in which she had attended the funeral. Her fingers were clumsy after the potion's relaxing effects, though, and she gave up and flopped back on the bed, her legs still hanging over the side.

"I give up," she murmured. "Isn't there a spell for this?"

"There is," he said after a pause. "Unfortunately, it is not selective in the garment it removes; everything goes."

"Is that a problem?"

A bone-deep weariness was beginning to creep over her, different to the tranquillity brought on by the potion; she could think of nothing more than crawling into bed with Severus and falling into a deep sleep next to his warmth.

"Very well," he said slowly. "Can you stand up for a minute? It's easier if you do."

Yawning, she complied, and he stood toe to toe with her, his dark eyes gazing down into her tired, red-rimmed ones.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded, but then reached out and took the wrist of his wand hand before he could speak the spell.

"Severus, I just…" She broke off, closed her eyes for a moment, and then continued, looking up at him again. "I wasn't asleep earlier… at all."

The corner of his mouth twitched again, and she could sense a jibe about Slytherin tactics in a Gryffindor on the tip of his tongue. Forestalling it, though, she spoke again, her heart pounding.

"You already know it, but after… after what has happened lately, it seems even more important to say it again."

She held her breath for a moment, and he held her gaze. She could see the pulse point in his neck, beating in the shadow of his jaw.

"I love you, Severus."

Her words hung in the air for a moment, before he closed his eyes and pulled her tightly against him, letting out a long breath as he did so.

"I know, Hermione," he murmured, "and I love you."

She'd known it for weeks… months, even, and heard him admit it to Malfoy tonight, but not until that moment had he spoken those three exact words to her. She wrapped her own arms around his back, feeling suddenly breathless and overwhelmed.

They stood together silently, both unwilling to be the first to let go, but at length, Snape said quietly, "Are you ready for bed?"

Hermione nodded.

She'd almost forgotten why they were standing beside the bed in the first place, and she didn't hear him speak another word, but there was a slight rush of cool air around her and she found herself naked, pressed up against Severus with her arms still around his now-bare back.

The sudden contrast of cool air on her back and the warmth of his body against her front made her shiver, and he released his embrace to pull back the covers and guide her into bed.

When they were settled together, Hermione facing away from his with her back against his chest, she yawned again and asked, "Why didn't you use that spell the other night? It's so much quicker."

"It is," he conceded. She could hear a smile in his voice. "But taking longer in those circumstances is half the fun."

She smacked his arm playfully where it was draped loosely around her waist, but he simply chuckled softly and tightened his grasp, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"It sounds an awful thing to say only the night they've been buried," she said hesitantly, "but even now, I think you were right… we will get over this. Life does go on. It has to."

"It will take time," he reminded her, his breath whispering across her neck as he spoke, "but you'll be all right. You _all_ will… and it's what they would have wanted."

_It's what they would have wanted_.

That sentiment echoed in Hermione's head as she drifted off to sleep. Severus was right; Molly and Arthur would want them all to try to move on – not to forget them, but to live as fully as they could. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the Calming Draught, or the comfort of Severus' body beside her, which was lulling her into a false sense of acceptance… but at that moment, just before she fell asleep, moving on almost seemed possible.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Notes:_

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a leat_ is Gaelic and means _may they rest in peace

_The title of this chapter, _Keayney_, is also Gaelic, and means crying, weeping or mourning._

_It's over a year ago now since I posted the first chapter of this crazy tale. Of course, I didn't know at that stage quite what a beast I was unleashing (mainly on myself – lol), but it's been an amazing ride so far, and it's not quite over yet. Thanks to everyone who has followed me along the way!_

_Thanks also to everyone who voted for this story in the 2005 OWL Awards, where it won Best Fire & Ice and Best Romance – thank you all so much! Speaking of awards, Before the Dawn has also been nominated in the Aphrodisia and Intelligence categories of the Multifaceted Awards! Voting closes on March 10th over at the Multifaceted website. :P_

_And finally, eternal gratitude, chocolate and a voodoo doll in the likeness of her choice to Potion Mistress, beta extraordinaire, who saves me from the embarrassment of corny lines, crappy phrasing and dodgy typos. Anything wrong with the chapter now is a result of my having had a few days to tinker with it after she sent it back._


	41. One Step Closer

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_

* * *

_

In the week following the Weasleys' funeral, Hermione spent a great deal of time with Ginny. Finally emerging from her shocked silence, she asked Hermione to constantly talk about anything and everything to take her mind off of what had happened.

In one of those conversations, late on Friday afternoon, a little over a week since Beltane Eve, there was a lull while Hermione tried to think of a new topic of conversation.

"You know the night… the other night," Ginny began, leaving little doubt in the tone of her voice to which night she was referring, "we all got woken up in Gryffindor Tower and taken to the Headmaster's office. Where were you?"

"What?" Hermione said absently. She had been sorting through her Charms notes while conversing with the younger girl, and she'd only half-heard the question.

"You came through the Floo with Professor Snape," Ginny stated.

"He's not really a Professor anymore," she said, still not really paying attention to her friend.

"Oh, I know that. I didn't even know he had stayed at Hogwarts after he was discovered."

Hermione looked up sharply.

"How did you even know that he was alive? No one is suppose to… did Ron—"

"Relax, Hermione," Ginny untucked her legs from beneath her and stretched out on the couch, dangling her feet over one armrest. "I heard… I heard Mum and Dad talking about him over Easter. Remember, I went home for a few days?"

Hermione nodded. "But how did _they_ know? Professor Dumbledore told us no one save Professors McGonagall and Lupin knew he'd survived."

"Dumbledore was the one who told them, I expect," Ginny said unconcernedly. "Anyway, I didn't tell anyone, and like I said, I only found out he was alive, not that he was here. It's good to know he's still with us – on our side, I mean – after what some of the Order's been saying."

"What do you mean?" Hermione frowned. "And how do you know all this?"

"I have ears, remember?" the younger girl said waspishly. "Not to mention extendable ones. They guard the Order meetings well enough against _those_ now, but Mum and Dad were talking at home, and over Easter a few members of the Order came to our house for dinner, too."

"And what were they saying?" Hermione prompted again.

"Well, Dumbledore wants it to be a secret that he's alive, right?" Hermione nodded, and Ginny continued, "He won't tell the rest of the Order any more than 'Snape is no longer a spy for us'. Everyone is speculating – either he's dead and Dumbledore doesn't want to make it public news, or he's turned traitor and gone back to Voldemort for good and Dumbledore is too proud to admit he was wrong."

"What!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Calm down," Ginny said. "Not everyone thinks like that… but everyone is uneasy about what's happened to him."

"That doesn't make sense," Hermione murmured. "Who do they think is making the Wolfsbane Lupin has been distributing? Has Dumbledore procured another Master of Potions?"

Realising belatedly the Order may not even know of Lupin's plight, she clapped her hands over her mouth, wide-eyed.

"It's all right. We _all_ know about that," Ginny reassured her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "From what I've heard, Dumbledore told the Order he's had people working on the potion from Snape's notes, and that you'd been working with him before and could continue a lot of what he'd been doing."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione muttered. "I'm a seventh-year, not a Master! And they actually believe him?"

"I guess so." Ginny shrugged.

After a moment of silence, Ginny went on, "So, what really happened to Snape?"

"I thought you said you knew?"

"I knew he was alive," Ginny corrected her, "but not where… or why you were with him in the middle of the night. Are you still helping him with the Wolfsbane and stuff?"

"Uh, yeah," Hermione said slowly, feeling a dull blush creep up her cheeks as it did whenever she spoke of Severus to another person. She'd have to work on controlling that. "I, uh… it's complicated. Perhaps I should start at the beginning?"

Ginny nodded encouragingly, but again Hermione hesitated.

"It's a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Sure," the red-haired girl said, eyeing her friend with a strange expression. "It sounds… interesting."

Standing up and moving from the floor where she had been sitting with her notes spread out on the coffee table, Hermione took the couch opposite the one occupied by Ginny, curling her feet up beneath her.

She told Ginny almost everything, from the first night she stumbled across Severus returning from Voldemort, Dumbledore's interference and them working together, to the cautious friendship that had been cemented at Christmas when he saved her and her parents' lives.

Hermione stopped momentarily, coming back to the present to tell Ginny how much Severus wished he could have saved her family, too. The younger girl smiled sadly, and simply said, "It wasn't to be."

Continuing on, Hermione was rather too lost in reminiscing to notice the slight furrow of Ginny's brow and the thoughtful expression on her face.

She described Severus' discovery by Voldemort, and the awful week following when no one had known whether he would live or die. She told Ginny of the changed circumstances after his recovery, how frustrated he was at his confinement and how much time she spent with him, trying to occupy his restless mind.

Hermione stopped again, though, unable to describe the events surrounding her attack in the dungeons. This time, during the silence, Ginny leant forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and asked quietly, "How long have you been in love with him?"

Open-mouthed, Hermione stared at the younger girl, again wondering how transparent her feelings were.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Not normally." Ginny shook her head. "But the way you've spoken of him tonight… yes. How long?"

"I don't- I don't rightly know," Hermione admitted. "Christmas, I think, was the first time I acknowledged it. Before that… I couldn't say. I've always respected him for the work he does for Dumbledore, even with his abhorrent temper in class."

"I always wondered if that was an act," Ginny mused.

"It isn't, really," she said. "Well, part of it is, I suppose, because he thinks it's easier to hold himself apart from others… but it's also that he doesn't have the patience for students who don't appreciate what he's trying to teach them."

Ginny looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I suppose that's true, really," she said, frowning slightly. "He's never really been horrid to me because I've kept my head down and got on with my work."

"Exactly. He still has his moments, of course; his temper is part of who he is, and God knows he has plenty of things to be frustrated about. But he's not… he's not cruel without cause," Hermione finally said, unable to think of how else to describe it. She had been about to say 'he's never turned his anger on me', but that wasn't strictly true… The night of their argument about the moonfilly – the night of her attack in the dungeons – he _had_ hurt her, but as she had said, not without provocation. And she had hurt him, too.

"So, you love him… does he love you?" Ginny asked, drawing her from her thoughts.

Hermione blushed and looked down at her clasped hands as she nodded, consequently missing the sudden grin on Ginny's face.

"That's so good, Hermione."

Hermione looked up again, surprised by the delighted smile on her friend's face. It was the first remotely happy expression she had seen on the young redhead since before Beltane Eve.

"Hang on." She narrowed her eyes for a moment, trying to detect any hint of sarcasm in the other girl's tone. "Shouldn't you be protesting like your brother and Harry did when they found out?" She mimicked Ron's spluttered disgust. "_But… but… it's _Snape_. The greasy, ugly git we all hate!_"

"Oh, honestly," Ginny scoffed, rolling her eyes. "They just don't want to believe you see something in someone _they_ hate. They can't comprehend it. I'll admit, if you'd just come out and told me, I probably would have thought you'd gone mad… but after what you've just said, it makes sense." Ginny paused and smiled mischievously. "And besides, we all know no boy _our_ age could ever satisfy you… intellectually, I mean."

Hermione was already blushing before Ginny amended the sentence, and the perceptive Weasley raised her eyebrows.

"Or otherwise…?"

Hermione hadn't been able to deny the extent of her relationship with Severus to Harry and Ron, and nor could she lie convincingly to Ginny. There was actually some sense of relief at Ginny's acceptance… it would be good to be able to talk about things with another girl… things Harry and Ron would never willingly sit and listen to. Ginny wasn't experienced in that way, as far as Hermione knew, but she had a better instinct when it came to the opposite sex than Hermione ever had.

The youngest Weasley was never without a partner at the school balls – not for a single dance.

"You haven't! When?" Ginny was leaning forward so far that she was in danger of falling off the couch. Now she had discovered the truth, it seemed to Hermione she wasn't going to settle for less than the details.

"Last week."

"Here? In the castle?" Ginny looked surprised.

"Well, Severus can't go anywhere else. He's not supposed to leave his rooms, by Dumbledore's decree."

"Wow." The younger girl blew out a breath. "Does anyone else know?"

"Aside from Harry and Ron, no," Hermione said. "Although I think Dumbledore had an idea."

"And he approves?"

"Well, he more or less gave us his consent a while ago."

Ginny's eyebrows almost shot up into her hairline as she stared incredulously at Hermione.

"Dumbledore – _the Headmaster_ – said it's okay for you to sleep with a teacher?"

"He isn't a teacher," Hermione said sharply, then took a breath. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap. Look, Severus kissed me while I was still his student – before he was discovered – and he went to Dumbledore straight away, realising it could get us both in trouble. The Headmaster said as long as I had approved at the time, and it didn't happen again while the student-teacher relationship existed, he wouldn't report it. But then, after Severus' discovery, things changed."

Ginny sat back again, shaking her head and letting out a sudden laugh.

"Now I know why I never see you anymore!"

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, but she laughed, too. It was heartening to see the red-haired girl laugh again – after the past week, Hermione had doubted she would ever see such an expression of joy on her friend's face for a long time indeed.

"It's wonderful to see you laugh," she said quietly after they had gotten over their mirth. "Even if it is at my expense."

Ginny smiled again, a little sadly this time.

"It's wonderful to see someone so happy," she countered. "We all need some happiness, and I'm glad at least one of us has found it."

Hermione smiled, too, though she couldn't help but feel guilty at the wistful tone in her friend's voice.

* * *

Although to someone on the outside, life might have appeared to go on as normal at Hogwarts after Beltane Eve, there was very little sense of normalcy for Hermione and her friends. 

Even for the rest of the students, there was a lingering sense of oppression in the castle, as though something unseen and yet fearful was bearing down on them all, drawing ever closer as the days went by.

That feeling of approaching doom increased a hundredfold for anyone who, like Hermione, had an inkling of what might transpire in the coming weeks.

In the darkness of the night, when sleep was a long way off and thoughts came unbidden, she often found herself overcome with such a strong sense of panic that it became hard to breathe.

The week following the Weasleys' funeral brought into focus for Hermione the stark realisation that they were all deeply involved in the war now. She had known it for some time, but perhaps the events surrounding Beltane Eve served to remind her how close to home Voldemort could hit and how, until the Order made a move, they were powerless to stop him.

In daylight hours, she was as calm and rational as ever, and although she tried to tell herself her nightly fears were pointless, in the end it was only Severus' presence that could ward off the panic. The nights she didn't intend on staying with Severus often saw her sneaking in through the Floo in the early hours of the morning. She didn't realise until the fourth night of doing so that he was awake every time she arrived.

It wasn't the half-aware wakefulness of someone having been roused from slumber by the sound of the Floo, either. She wondered whether he was experiencing similar worries of the approaching events, but brushed that thought aside; he had been living in the midst of a war for more than half of his life.

With her consent, Dumbledore had taken her out of revision classes completely and, to her surprise, done the same with Malfoy. No one questioned the decision – they were two of the brightest students in their year, whose time was better spent on whatever 'special project' the Headmaster had set aside for them.

Harry and Ron were excused from most of their classes, too, and no one questioned their absence after what had happened.

Unlike the others, Ginny had returned to her studies the week following her parents' and brothers' funeral, and she seemed to be coping well enough, all things considered. She was determined to complete her schooling to honour the memory of her parents, who had sacrificed so much to put all their children through Hogwarts.

Congruent with the wizarding world's overall reaction to the events of Beltane Eve, the _Daily Prophet_ spent a good deal of space speculating on what would happen next. While first proclaiming that revenge must be swift and sure, when a week and a half went by with no retaliation or news of capturing those responsible, the paper fell into the more morose mood now shared by the general public. The cloud of anger over what had happened had lifted, and the number of cries to meet violence with violence diminished as people turned instead to rebuilding what had been lost and supporting those who had suffered.

The Minister for Magic, still relatively inexperienced after succeeding Cornelius Fudge only a year ago, had done a commendable job of keeping the general population calm and informed. In the days following Beltane Eve, he had visited the ruined town and vowed to allocate as many resources as necessary to rebuild it. He also visited the school, speaking with the Headmaster and offering his condolences to the Weasleys and other whose close relatives had fallen victim in the attack.

Hermione learnt from Severus that the Minister had also offered any assistance the Headmaster needed to bring about the downfall of Voldemort. He had accepted the truth of popular opinion, that it was Dumbledore and Harry, not the Ministry, who had the power and ability to complete the task.

Even so, the Headmaster had politely refused any Ministry assistance at the time. The Minister himself may be above suspicion – though who really knew whether his motives were genuine – but there were others in the Ministry of Magic who were not. Though Dumbledore had assured the Minister his plans were tentative at this stage, he would not risk anyone gaining an inkling of what they proposed to do.

In truth, though, no plan had yet been forthcoming. It had already been established that Harry's wand would not work against its brother, and yet it had to be Harry who cast the final curse. How he was to manage that, though, was eluding all of them for now.

The Minister hadn't necessarily been happy with being kept completely in the dark, but unlike his predecessor might have done, he accepted Dumbledore's decision. Publicly, he announced that those who had brought such suffering upon the wizarding world would be brought to justice, but that it would take time and resources to ensure everyone involved was held responsible for their crimes.

Combined with his pledge to rebuild Hogsmeade and, to the best of the Ministry's ability, prevent such an attack from happening again, it seemed to satisfy the general population… or at least give them something to look towards and work for.

The day after the conversation with Ginny, Hermione joined Harry and Ron in accepting an invitation to the Headmaster's office for an afternoon discussion. They met Professor Lupin at the bottom of the stone staircase, the Defence teacher talking animatedly with Harry on the way up; when they reached the office, Hermione was surprised to see Severus and Malfoy already there with the Headmaster.

They were sitting in a rough circle of armchairs which Dumbledore appeared to have Conjured for the occasion, and the Headmaster gestured for the others to join them.

Hermione took the seat next to Severus, giving him a small smile as she sat down, and though his face remained passive, his eyes glimmered for a moment. There was something different about him, she thought, and only realised a few minutes later that he was wearing robes over his usual shirt and trousers. She'd seen him wearing robes in the classroom for six and a half years, but after three months without them, he looked like a different person.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy for a moment and took the seat directly opposite, as far away as possible in the small circle. He may have accepted the Slytherin was on their side, but even after the considerate gesture of Malfoy waiting for them after the Weasleys' funeral, Harry still didn't fully trust his motives.

Lupin sat next to Harry, leaving two chairs empty, between Harry and the Headmaster, and Lupin and Hermione. With an apologetic glance, Ron took the one next to Harry. A few moments later, McGonagall arrived and sat on the other side of Hermione.

"Thank you all for coming," the Headmaster began. "I'm sure there are no illusions as to why we are all here."

No one spoke, and Dumbledore clasped his hands in his lap and leant back in his chair.

"We need to start making preparations," he said at length. "I have hesitated until now and it has cost us, though I will justify my actions by saying I could not see a way for Voldemort to be defeated before now. The Order is naturally making preparations of their own, but I find it only fair that you all be included in an ultimate decision, as so much of the outcome rests on those of us in this room. The next time Harry meets with Voldemort, I strongly believe it will be the last. We need to have a clear idea of how we intend to defeat him, for if we do not succeed this time…"

The Headmaster trailed off, but it was clear to all present what would happen if Harry failed. There was silence for a moment, and then Harry, taking a deep breath, was the first to speak.

"So, how do we do it, then? Or how do _I_ do it?"

"That," the Headmaster said carefully, "I do not yet know."

All the inhabitants of the circle seemed to wilt a little at Dumbledore's words, a collective slouch of defeat.

"There are certain things we can eliminate," McGonagall spoke up after a short pause. Hermione could hear the forced reassurance in her voice. "We know Mr Potter is the only one who has come close to defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the past, and we know from the prophecy that he is the only one who can. We also know that it cannot be done with a wand, since theirs will not work against one another."

"Can Potter just get another wand and finish him off?"

This time it was Malfoy who had spoken.

"I have considered that possibility," the Headmaster said. "The hatred required to cast the Killing Curse successfully will not be a problem-" Harry nodded vigorously, "-however changing wands at such a crucial stage of one's life is risky. One does not ordinarily do so unless it is broken or no longer compatible with one's magic."

"In any case," Hermione added thoughtfully, and all eyes in the room turned to her. "There must be some significance in their wands being brothers. It's saved Harry before."

The others nodded, murmuring in agreement.

"What if Voldemort's got another wand?" Ron asked. "He must have realised he couldn't duel with Harry. What if he's replaced it?"

"He still had it at the Department of Mysteries, if I recall correctly," Lupin said, rubbing his chin with a contemplative expression on his face. "If he _has_ switched wands, though, it may make it easier for us."

"Easier?" Hermione had been about to agree with the Defence teacher when Severus spoke, derision clear in his tone. "Think about it, Lupin. A new wand doesn't only mean Potter will be able to duel with Voldemort; it will also give _him_ the chance to finish Potter off."

"I can still use my wand against him, though," Harry pointed out. "The problem was when we both cast spells at the same time and they met. If I can get one off first, or get his wand away from him..."

"Easier said than done, Potter," Severus warned. "It's not another seventeen-year-old schoolboy you're talking of duelling with here."

Harry opened his mouth to retort angrily, but the Headmaster spoke up, quickly redirecting the conversation.

"There are also the Death Eaters to consider," the old wizard said, shooting placating glances at both Severus and Harry, who were glaring at one another. "It is highly unlikely we will be able to lure Tom away from his followers, and while Harry is the only one who can kill him, the same does not work in reverse. Harry will be at risk from Tom _and_ the others alike."

"_That_ makes me feel better," Harry snorted, rising from his chair and leaving the circle to pace about the room.

"The Order will be there, though, won't we, Albus?" McGonagall challenged. "_We_ will be dealing with the Death Eaters so Mr Potter can focus on the main objective."

"Ideally, that will be the case," Dumbledore said. "However we still must return to how Harry is to defeat Tom completely. I fear even if a curse from his wand were to hit its mark, a simple Killing Curse will not be enough."

"Maybe there's something else I can use," Harry said. He had walked halfway around the outer wall of Dumbledore's office, and was standing before a row of shelves filled with strange artefacts.

Reaching out for one, he turned back to the rest of them and held it up. In a flash of recognition, Hermione saw it was a dagger.

"Is this…?" Harry looked questioningly from the Headmaster to Severus, who tensed slightly and then shook his head.

"No."

"It is very similar to the blade Tom used in his attempt to kill Severus," the Headmaster said quietly. Hermione saw Malfoy's eyes widen as he looked from the length of the blade to Severus.

"Can we use this one against him?" Harry persisted. "Surely even he couldn't survive if the wrong person drew it out of him?"

"No," the Headmaster agreed. "However, the problem there lies in getting close enough to inflict the wound."

"It would be near impossible," Lupin put in. Seeming to read Harry's thoughts, he added, "Even with James' cloak. You'll likely still be in the middle of a battle. The cloak doesn't deflect hexes, and it would only take one hit to give you away."

Harry sighed, fingering the blade of the dagger for a moment before he set it back on its stand and rejoined the circle of chairs.

After a minute of thought, the Headmaster spoke again. "I believe, in the end, the best thing we can do is invite a confrontation, making it appear as though you alone are challenging him, Harry. Your apparent boldness will confuse him, his confidence at the thought of facing you alone will increase, and only when it is too late will he realise he is surrounded. Even if his Death Eaters are with him, I am confident the Order will be able to deal with them."

"That's all very well, Albus," Severus said, "but the problem that remains is how to lure Voldemort to wherever you plan for this to take place. His confidence in his own ability has been his downfall in the past, but he is anything but blind enough to be drawn into a trap."

The Headmaster eyed Severus before his gaze drifted to Harry, a thinking look on his face.

"I think," he said at length, "that is something we need to carefully consider. I am confident an opportunity will present itself in good time."

"What part are the rest of us to play in this?" Malfoy asked. "You can't have us all up here just to discuss what Potter is going to do."

"You sound like you can't wait to get out there," Ron said scornfully. "Looking forward to facing off with your father, are you?"

Hermione's soft gasp went unheard as Professor McGonagall exclaimed, "Mr Weasley!"

Two pink spots appeared on Malfoy's pale cheeks, but his move to stand was stopped by Severus, who placed an arm across in front of the Slytherin to keep him in his chair.

"That was thoroughly uncalled for, Mr Weasley," Severus said in a low, angry voice. "We are here because Albus believes we all have something to contribute to this discussion. Perhaps he was mistaken in including you."

Ron glared at Severus, but he had the good sense not to respond to the older man's jibe.

"I wasn't just talking about myself, actually," Malfoy said quietly as Severus lowered his arm. "We're all going to be involved in some way, aren't we?"

"As much as it pains me to put so many young lives in harm's way," the Headmaster said, "I fear I could not convince any of you to stand aside."

There was a collective murmur of agreement from all of them, but as the conversation moved on to other, more trivial things, Hermione sat quietly and gazed around at the other people in the room.

Lupin was sitting quietly across from her, his eyes moving between Harry and Dumbledore as they spoke. He looked tired and drawn, and Hermione knew he, too, had taken the Weasleys' deaths hard. Mr and Mrs Weasley had always been supportive of him, despite what he was.

Harry looked tired, as did they all, but he also seemed happy that progress was finally being made and they were working towards a solution. Ron appearing to be listening to the others speak, too, but Hermione saw him glance towards Draco and Severus, his eyes narrowing slightly as he did. He caught Hermione looking at him, then, and he looked away, fixing his gaze on his lap.

Turning to look at Severus, she saw he was staring across the room, lost in thought. After a few minutes, she reached out and lightly touched his hand where it sat on the armrest. He snapped out of his reverie and his eyes turned to her.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

"Just thinking," he said, moving his hand away from her and folding his arms.

She stared at him for a moment longer and then looked away; both Ron and Harry were watching her as the Headmaster, McGonagall and Lupin spoke amongst themselves, but she simply raised her eyebrows and turned her gaze elsewhere.

The meeting concluded a short time later, though no further decisions were reached. Harry, Ron and Hermione had plenty to consider as they made their way down to the Great Hall for dinner. Severus and Malfoy had remained seated when they left, and Hermione's questioning glance at Severus was met only by a short shake of his head.

She resolved to speak with him later that night.

* * *

After eating dinner with Albus and Draco in the Headmaster's office, Snape returned to his quarters and set about brewing a base potion used for some of the more complex medicinal potions. It didn't require a lot of concentration beyond keeping the rate of stirring even, and that was something he could almost do in his sleep. It was a good thing, too, since his mind was far from the task at hand. 

Gathered in Albus' office today with the other teachers, Draco, Hermione and her friends, the Headmaster's words had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. _I fear I could not convince any of you to stand aside_, he had said. Severus knew it was the truth; he had found himself dwelling often during the past week how dangerous the coming events were going to be… not for himself, but for Hermione.

He had never held any illusions for his safety come the end of the war, but now there was someone else to worry about; the possibility of Hermione being hurt… or worse… when it came to the final confrontation with Voldemort was very real, and the thought of losing her frightened him in a way he hadn't been scared for a very long time.

The sombre thoughts kept him awake in the darkness of the night, and when he finally did manage to sleep, it was a restless slumber filled with old dreams the current events were forcing his unconscious mind to recall.

Hermione had woken him one night, her eyes wide and frightened in the darkness as she shook him awake from a particularly vivid dream. He had brushed it off, saying he couldn't remember what it had been about and hiding his shaking hands underneath the bedclothes. From the look she had given him, though, he knew _she_ knew it hadn't been a random occurrence.

After that, he feared something he called out in his sleep would give away the horror of his dreams, and she would demand an explanation for him crying out her name as he awoke. It wasn't something he felt able to explain. When she wasn't with him, he often stayed up all night, tidying the lab, reorganising shelves unnecessarily only to put them back the way they had been, brewing base potions to be used in the coming days.

Consequently, when she did stay, he was exhausted enough that his sleep was dreamless.

A sound beside Snape startled him, and he realised the object of his thoughts was standing there watching him.

"You were miles away," she said, a concerned expression on her face. She reached out and touched the hand resting on the bench beside the cauldron. "Are you all right?"

"Just thinking."

She smiled, though her eyes still watched him carefully.

"That's what you said earlier. There's something on your mind, I can tell."

"There's always something on my mind, Hermione," he said, turning his attention back to the cauldron and pulling his hand away. "Right now, it happens to be how many stirs this has left before I can bottle it."

She sighed and stepped away from him, moving across the lab to where her own cauldron was set up from earlier that morning. Admitting to her how worried he was would only worry _her_, and now was most definitely not the time to seem pessimistic about what was to come. He should have known better than to think she would let it go so easily. By the time he had bottled the potion, she had packed up her work area and followed him out into the sitting room.

Instead of joining him on the couch as she usually did, Hermione sat on the coffee table, her knees between his, and fixed him with an appraising stare.

"You look tired," she stated.

"Aren't we all?" He shifted, uncomfortable with her scrutiny, and feigned interest in a scratch on the back of his hand. He hadn't noticed it before, but guessed it was from the porcupine quills he had been handling earlier that day.

"Severus."

Her hands resting on his thighs as she leant forward drew his attention back to her brown eyes, which were fixed on him unwaveringly.

"I think I know you well enough to know something's wrong," she said quietly. "Is it anything I can help with?"

He shook his head.

"Anything I can listen to, even if I can't help?"

He had to admire her persistence.

"You've got enough to worry about without me adding to your troubles," he said. "Besides, it's nothing in particular."

She held his gaze silently, and he could feel the warmth of her hands through the fabric of his trousers. Eventually, he sighed, rested his hands atop hers and conceded.

"I've been involved in this war for a long time, Hermione," he began. "For the most part, it's been a very… subtle conflict. I suppose that's the best word to describe it. Attacks like Hogsmeade, like the Burrow, like Godric's Hollow the night the Potters were killed… they have been few and far between, considering the war has been going for twenty years, on and off. This week, discussing how it is finally going to end… it's surreal to even think that it might be over."

She nodded understandingly. "It will be strange, I would imagine… but a welcome change."

"Of course." He nodded. "Believe me, I want nothing more than this all to be over, Hermione… but I think sitting in Albus' office this afternoon, discussing _how_ it will come to be over..." He broke off and pulled one hand away from hers to rub the bridge of his nose. "It's not going to be easy, Hermione."

"I know that," she said, gripping his other hand more tightly in case he tried to pull it away. "And I know it's going to be just as hard on you as on the rest of us, _more so_, perhaps, than any of us save Harry. If you're still worried about what Professor Dumbledore is going to ask of you, I would-"

Hermione stopped speaking as he let out a huff of bitter laughter, and she stared at him, confusion on her face.

"You actually think I'm worried for _myself_?" he scorned. "I thought you said you knew me."

He sobered quickly at her hurt look and closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, she was still watching him.

"Don't you see, Hermione?" he implored, finally allowing the concern he felt to show on his face. "I'm worried for _you_."

"Me?" She blinked, looking startled, and somehow it hurt to think she was surprised to hear he cared. "You're worried for me?"

"How could I not be?" he said simply. "Whatever happens, I know you'll be with Potter, standing right beside him when things come to an end. Is it wrong of me to worry?"

"No," she conceded, "but I'll be in no more danger than you."

He shook his head in disagreement.

"I'm scared witless for what's going to happen, Severus," she continued, "but _all_ of us will need to play a part if we're to have any chance at success. Sometimes I feel like I want to crawl into a corner and not emerge until this is all over, but I can't. I have to be there for Harry, and I want to be there for you."

"You _have_ been here for me," he assured her, "and for Potter. That doesn't mean you also have to be out _there_ with us. There are many, much safer ways to support us."

Hermione was already shaking her head before he finished speaking.

"Don't ask me to stand aside in this, because I won't. I can't. You understand that, don't you?"

"I do," he said heavily. "I wouldn't hope to dissuade you, and I can't expect you to stand aside when I won't, but…"

She looked at him questioningly, and he took a deep breath. Snape held no illusions about his feelings for her, but they were terribly difficult to put into the right words.

"Hermione, if… if anything goes wrong… if anything happens to you, I…"

He trailed off again and looked away, wondering if he'd been wrong to speak at all. The last week had been hard on her already; perhaps it was wrong of him to seem so pessimistic. He was older, more experienced in the ways of the world – _he_ should be the one reassuring _her_. It wasn't that he truly doubted they would succeed – but he would be lying if he said he hadn't considered what might happen if they didn't. He looked up as Hermione stood from the edge of the coffee table, but she didn't release his hand as she turned and sat down beside him instead.

Her expression was worried and grateful and frightened all at once.

"We'll be all right," she whispered, tucking one arm around behind his back and leaning into him in an awkward sideways hug.

There wasn't much conviction in her words; she knew as well as he did no one could predict what would happen. Nevertheless, worried as he was, those few words were strangely reassuring.

"I'm sorry," he said at length, leaning down to rest his chin atop her head. "I always tend to think the worst of things."

"I know you do," she murmured. "I just wish you'd have some hope."

He lifted his head and stared down at her wordlessly, but Hermione closed her eyes, oblivious to his surprise at the way she seemed to be able to read him so well.

"I'll try," he finally said.

Hermione let out a soft sigh and burrowed closer into his side.

It was much later when they both got up together and went into the bedroom. Hermione fell asleep quickly, curled up against his side, but Severus lay awake in the darkness for a long time.

He wanted to believe that everything would go the way they planned, but in his experience optimism led to disappointment. In thinking the worst of everything and everyone, at least he had the opportunity to be pleasantly surprised… and the young woman next to him had been most surprising.

As he drifted off to sleep, he resolved to bury his concerns for the moment and try to at least appear optimistic… for her sake. He'd managed to fool people with far greater lies before.

* * *

Over the following week, Hermione found herself spending more time with Malfoy than she did her other friends. Severus was working on Wolfsbane potions again, but he also couldn't afford not to be spending as much time as possible working with Malfoy, giving the young Slytherin as much information as possible about his own time in Voldemort's ranks. 

Hermione was in the lab with them, preparing ingredients for the brews Severus was making. She mostly sat silently while Severus and Malfoy talked; she was gratified neither of them objected to her being there, or held anything back because of her presence. Listening to them speak and watching them interact, Hermione marvelled at the easy camaraderie between the two men. After Malfoy had first discovered Severus was still alive, she had doubted whether he would ever trust his former Head of House again. He did, though. Insults passed between them good-naturedly, but when they spoke of serious matters it was clear the younger man valued Severus' opinion and realised the gravity of the situation they all found themselves in.

In a decision which took them all completely by surprise, the Headmaster took Malfoy with him to an Order meeting at Grimmauld Place on Wednesday night, revealing his loyalties to the group. From the Head Boy's later account, there had been much arguing, trying to convince the Dumbledore he had made a terrible mistake, but the old wizard would not be dissuaded. Calling for silence, he had explained the Vow binding Malfoy to his service, and then beckoned for the young man to step forward and say something for himself.

"That," Malfoy said, recounting it much later that night to Severus and Hermione, "was the most terrifying thing I've ever had to do."

Mad-Eye Moody, he said, had glared at him with utmost contempt as he had managed precious few words beyond, "I only want to do what is right." Most other members of the group, though, however grudgingly, seemed to accept their leader's decision.

On Thursday afternoon, Hermione and Malfoy both ended up in the lab while Severus was speaking with the Headmaster. A number of times, Hermione glanced up from her cauldron to see the blonde watching her. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but every time she thought he might, the silence continued.

Finally, she prompted him.

"If you want to say something, Malfoy, stop staring at me and get on with it."

He frowned, then sighed and set his stirring rod aside.

"Look," he said, "I didn't want to say anything to Severus… but don't you wonder what Dumbledore's playing at with him?"

Hermione set down her own stirrer and folded her arms, coming around her workbench to stand closer to him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he had no problem telling the Order about me, but after all this time he still hasn't told them Severus is alive. Don't you wonder why?"

"Dumbledore keeps saying he'll tell them when the time is right," she said, a trace of uneasiness creeping into her mind. Many things had changed since the Headmaster had thought to use Severus as a distraction for Voldemort… surely there were other ways now?

"That's what Severus said," Malfoy sighed. "Somehow I don't think he quite believes it, though. I don't blame him. It's almost like Dumbledore wants the Order to think Severus has betrayed them."

Hermione stared at the Slytherin, her conversation with Ginny the previous week coming back to her. The youngest Weasley had mentioned the Order speculating as to what had truly happened when the Potions master suddenly vanished and the Headmaster wouldn't speak of him.

"Professor Dumbledore will have to tell them all the truth before… before the end," she said, shaking her head.

"He better," Malfoy said darkly, "or Severus will be taking curses from _both_ sides."

That unsettling thought stayed with Hermione, and though she didn't mention it to Severus, she couldn't help but wish they would think of a way to defeat Voldemort soon… a way which _didn't_ involve Severus being too close to him.

* * *

Hermione was surprised and pleased that Harry and Ron seemed to be making an effort to at least be civil to Severus and Malfoy during the next few meetings. She noticed Ron sometimes watching her contemplatively when she spoke to Severus, or when she arrived or left with him. It was almost as though he was waiting for her to do something to publicly confirm their relationship. She didn't, though, and not because she knew he was watching. Even in front of the Headmaster or Malfoy, who had seen more of them together than anyone, she never made a show of her feelings. It wasn't something Severus would ever do, either… what happened between them remained solely between them. 

The same group gathered in Dumbledore's office on Friday night, save for Professor McGonagall, who was supervising the detentions of some younger students, and Malfoy, who was patrolling the castle to preserve some sense of normality in his weekly routine.

"I've got an idea," Harry said quietly when they were all seated in the same rough circle.

Hermione looked at him, surprised. He hadn't mentioned anything to her earlier that day, but she saw Ron looked equally surprised, and concluded this was the first any of them had heard of it.

"You all know I went to Godric's Hollow for the first time last year," Harry began. "On Halloween night, the anniversary of… well, you all know that, too."

The Headmaster nodded encouragingly, Professor Lupin was staring down at his lap, and Hermione looked sideways at Severus to see his face carefully schooled in an expression she knew belied what he was truly thinking.

Hermione remembered the night last year all too well. She and Ron had returned to Gryffindor Tower after the Halloween feast to find Harry gone and a note simply saying, _'I have to do something for myself. Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow.'_

He had returned the following morning, too. Seeing him toiling up the path from the main gates at first light, Hermione hadn't known whether to hug him or hit him. They had only found out later that day where he'd been, that the Headmaster had disclosed the location to him over the summer holidays, and that he hadn't had the courage to visit until that night.

"I never thought of it back then," Harry continued, drawing Hermione back to the present, "but it was a stupid thing to do on my part."

Severus snorted softly, and Harry pointedly ignored it.

"If Voldemort had found out I was there, it would have been the perfect opportunity for him to finish me off - murder me on the graves of my parents, on the anniversary of their deaths."

"We should be thankful he wasn't aware of it, then," Hermione said.

"Not _that_ time," Harry said, eyeing them all keenly. "Did you know it would have been my Mum's birthday next month?"

Hermione realised what her friend was alluding to at the same moment the others did.

"You mean to return there and lure him to follow… trick him into thinking you'll be alone," Professor Lupin stated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Yes," Harry said. "And only when it's too late will he realise I'm not alone at all. Everyone will be there; the whole Order."

"It could work," Hermione murmured, looking at Severus again. He was silent, but she could almost see his mind working, going over the potential of the idea. If he didn't consider it viable, Hermione knew he would have wasted no opportunity in scorning it straight away.

"It is certainly something to consider," Dumbledore said after a long pause. "I am confident Tom would not miss the irony of killing you at Godric's Hollow, nor on the birthday of your mother… Severus, do you think Tom could be provoked to act?"

"I believe so, Albus," Severus said. "If we are able to convince him Potter will be alone, yet have others nearby should the need arise for-"

"Nearby?" Ron spoke up for the first time that evening, annoyance clear in his voice. "Nearby isn't good enough. What if Voldemort brings his Death Eaters or sets up some kind of wards? He could finish Harry off before we can get to him!"

"Now there's a show of faith," Harry muttered, but he seemed uneasy rather than offended.

"You know that's not what I meant," Ron said to Harry, then spoke to the group again. "We need to be right there – not visible, but _there_ all the same. We can't just… leave Harry alone out there."

"He will be far from alone, Mr Weasley," Severus sneered. "But once Voldemort arrives – and make no mistake, he will bring all his Death Eaters to witness the demise of his enemy – you will have far more to worry about than standing beside Potter giving him moral support."

"Moral support?" Ron's voice was louder now, and Hermione could see him becoming angry. "We'd be fighting alongside him, not bloody cheering for him like some Quidditch match!"

"There is the prophecy, Ron," Lupin spoke up in a calm, quiet voice. "Don't forget only Harry can defeat him, and Harry alone."

"I know that." Ron suddenly seemed to let go of the argument. "I just think we need to be out there with Harry in case he needs us. Hermione and I have always been there for him, and he's going to need us more than ever."

Hermione nodded, and she saw a faint smile on Harry's face. Lupin didn't speak, but was watching them all with a contemplative expression.

"I wouldn't imagine you would be anywhere other than beside your friend, Mr Weasley," the Headmaster said, "nor you, Miss Granger. It is a strong bond of friendship indeed that surpasses fear of what is to come."

"An admirable sentiment, Albus," Severus said in a low voice. "But perhaps also foolhardy. You forget that Voldemort takes malicious pride in hitting his enemies where it hurts them the most. In Potter's case, with no family, the thing that would hurt the most would be the loss of his friends. By putting Mr Weasley and Miss Granger at Potter's side, you are handing their lives to Voldemort on a platter. He will not hesitate to kill them, and once he has, Potter will be easy prey."

If Hermione hadn't known his voice so well, she would never have caught the slight catch as he spoke of Voldemort killing them. As it was, no one else noticed, but the silence in the room as Severus' words sunk in was enough that Hermione knew they had struck a chord within everyone.

"Yes," said the Headmaster after a long time, "that is something we must consider. Nonetheless, your loyalty to your friend is commendable, Mr Weasley."

Ron nodded, but frowned in Severus' direction.

"Something else you wish to add, Mr Weasley?" the older man enquired, his eyes narrowing at the redhead.

"Yes, actually," Ron said, raising his chin. "You might as well call her Hermione. We all know what's going on, and frankly, calling her Miss Granger just sounds… well… _kinky_."

There was a collective intake of breath from the other occupants of the room, and Hermione felt her face flush a brilliant shade of red. Already annoyed, Severus was on his feet in an instant, his wand out and pointing straight at Ron's neck.

The younger man gulped as the tip dug in, far too close to his windpipe for comfort.

"Be thankful she holds you in such high regard, Mr Weasley," Severus snarled angrily, "or I would not so readily tolerate your insult. As it is, your insolence insults her as much as it does me."

"Severus."

Hermione stood and laid a hand on his outstretched arm, coaxing him to lower it. He complied, and Ron breathed a sigh of relief, watching his former teacher warily in case the older man changed his mind.

Severus shoved his wand back up his sleeve.

"I'll leave you to your friends, _Hermione_," he said, not looking at her as he spun on his heel, stalked to the fireplace and disappeared in a whirl of green.

She stared after him and then turned back to Ron. 

"I was only joking," he said weakly, massaging his neck where the wand tip had left a mark.

"Yeah? Well it wasn't funny, Ron," she said tersely. "Not at all."

The Headmaster cleared his throat pointedly, and they both turned to the old wizard.

"I think perhaps we should conclude our business for today," he said. "We have made a good beginning."

Ron lingered by the door leading out and down the spiral staircase, but Hermione glared at him, shook her head and turned to the fireplace to Floo to Severus' quarters.

She wasn't looking forward to this.

* * *

The sitting room was predictably empty when she arrived, but the lab door was ajar. Severus was standing at the far end of the room, bottles and jars from the ingredients cabinet spread out on the bench as he sorted and reorganised the shelf. 

He didn't acknowledge her entering the room, nor did he look up when she took the stool at the end of the bench. He simply continued opening the jars and bottles, checking their contents and either Scourgifying them or recapping the container and placing it back on the shelf.

"He didn't mean to insult you, you know," she said, when the silence had drawn on too long. "He just didn't think."

"_That_ much is obvious," he muttered under his breath, unstoppering a dubious, grey-looking substance and sniffing the contents gingerly. The contents vanished with a flick of his wand, and he set the empty bottle aside.

"He does have a point, though," she went on, ignoring the deepening frown on his face. "There's no need for you to pretend in front of any of them."

"I know," he said after a moment, though he still didn't look at her. "It was... old habit, I suppose. I address one of those idiots you call friends as 'Mr', so I didn't even think when I spoke of you both at once."

"You could call _them_ by their first names, too, you know," she said, continuing quickly as she saw him open his mouth to protest. "They're not your students anymore, either, and I think Harry, at least, has earned equal address."

"I am quite content addressing them as I do, thank you," he bit out. "When _I_ deem Potter worthy of a less formal address, I assure you, he will know."

She sighed, but then a sly grin found its way onto her face.

"Come on, Severus," she said mischievously. "It's only one word. Look, repeat after me: _Har-ry_."

He glared at her and she tried to suppress a giggle.

"Your turn," she said, folding her arms. "Har-ry."

"I refuse to participate in such childish behaviour," he said, looking down his nose at her, "and if that is what I must resort to, I believe I shall stick to calling you Miss Granger in public."

He turned back to the shelves again and she turned and crossed the room as if to leave.

"Fine, _professor_."

She knew that would get a reaction.

He crossed the room and was on her in an instant. In one swift, fluid movement, he spun her around and pushed her against the wall beside the door, pushing his body again her and insinuating one leg between hers.

"You try my patience, _Miss Granger_," he said silkily, his face inches from her own.

"I try my best," she returned, grasping the back of his head to draw his lips down to meet hers.

His hands came up under the back of her shirt, teasing across her waist and back. Her own hands couldn't find any skin other than his face, though, buttoned up as he was in his repressive robes.

"You've got too many clothes on," she complained, his chuckle vibrating through her as she struggled with the first button at his neck. "You need to teach me that spell."

"Allow me," he murmured.

"Severus, not here!" she exclaimed, thinking he was about to strip her then and there.

He stepped back and arched an eyebrow.

"Really? How disappointing," he sighed. "I suppose I shall have to go back to my work, then."

She grabbed his arm as he turned from her.

"I don't think so, Severus."

A short time later, they were in the bedroom, a puddle of clothes littering the floor around them as they disrobed each other. When she had Severus down to nothing but his trousers, she paused for a moment, leaning into him and wrapping her arms around his back, rubbing her palms over the smooth skin.

"What's this for?" he murmured, his own hands caressing her bare shoulders as he pushed her bra straps down.

"I just like to feel you," she responded, resting her head against his chest for a moment. His skin was warm and smooth, but the growing hardness pressing against her through his trousers reminded her there were other, more pleasurable things ahead.

Pulling away, she ran her hands around from his back to the button at his waist, her fingers brushing over the ragged ends of the werewolf scar as they moved.

She fleetingly wondered how many more scars he would bear before the war was finally over, but she pushed the thought aside. Just for tonight, she resolved not to think beyond this room.

The remainder of their clothes disappeared quickly, and she let him lay her back on the bed, covering his body with her own. His lips on her neck and chest were having wonderful effects on other parts of her body, and the feel of heated skin on skin was intoxicating; she hardly realised the voice urging him on was her own.

A rumbling laugh rose from deep within his chest at her pleas, and he drew back to look down at her for a moment, his dark eyes dancing with mirth yet burning with a deeper, more primal emotion; pure desire.

"Please," she said again, her own eyes locked with his in the soft light from the torches on the wall.

She didn't need to ask again.

Their love-making was fast and urgent, such a contrast to the first night they had spent together. Their skin became shiny with perspiration, their legs sliding against each other as they twined together on top of tangled sheets. Severus' hair hung about his face as he moved over her, and she brushed it back, holding it at the nape of his neck so she could see his face as he came.

Afterwards, he rolled over so as not the crush her, pulling her with him. Hermione lay with her body draped over his, listening to his heart thumping beneath her ear. She traced circles with her fingertips on his sweat-slicked chest, blowing puffs of breath across the skin and smiling to herself when he shivered.

For just a few hours, they could forget about all else outside that room, pretend there was no one else in the world… until that illusion came crashing down when they stepped back into reality.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! This one might have been easier to write content-wise, but it still took a lot longer! Mea culpa. Full time work is great for the money, but it's a bitch on update schedules! _

_Many, many thanks to Potion Mistress, the most patient, dedicated beta one could hope for. Mistakes belong to me, because I edited the chapter after she sent it back._

_Also many thanks to anyone who voted for this story in the Multifaceted Awards. It won the Aphrodisia category for Best Adult Het Fic and came Runner-Up in the Intelligence (Drama) category. Needless to say I'm flattered and very happy. :)_

_ / i _


	42. Three Words

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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_**Chapter 42**  
_

It was with a mixture of relief and fear that Hermione realised the date Harry would likely face Voldemort for the final time – the date which would ultimately determine where the lives of every witch and wizard went from there – was little over two weeks away.

Lily Potter's birthday would have been on the second of June, the Monday after exams finished and all Hogwarts' students went home for the summer holidays. While most of the seventh-year students were already preparing for the gruelling week of NEWT practical and theory exams, Hermione, Harry and Ron had thus far paid precious little attention to such formalities.

After seven years of obsessive studying, Hermione's outlook on what was important in life had changed dramatically over the past six months, forcing her to reconsider the priorities she had previously been so sure of. Her time was divided between her friends, meetings with the Headmaster and her brewing for the Hospital Wing, which now encompassed preparing potions commonly required during the school examinations period. Despite strict Ministry controls, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts and even Charms practicals could all be dangerous if a student lost concentration or made an error, and Madam Pomfrey insisted they be adequately prepared. Hermione still endeavoured to spend some time with Ginny, helping the younger girl revise for her own exams, and time alone with Severus was pleasant but rare. Whenever she thought she had a few minutes to sit down and read through her revision notes, something else came up and she set them aside.

In the end, just a week before the exams began, it was Severus who finally convinced her to take some time for herself and go over her seven years' worth of well-organised revision, assuring her neither he nor her friends would begrudge her that. There would still be a life after the war had ended, he told her, and that time was near. Just because most of their time and effort was concentrated on that end didn't mean she shouldn't look past it to her future.

Normally she would have taken his words to heart, recognising his concern and knowing he meant the best for her. Tonight, though, she was tired and frustrated, unable to find time to do everything she felt obligated to be doing, and it irked her that his comments seemed to imply so little importance in her other duties.

"And what about you?" she countered angrily when he told her again not to ignore her future at the expense of the moment. "You don't look past the end of the war. How can I look to the future when you won't look forwards with me?"

It was one of their rare evenings alone; she usually treasured such time, seldom as it was these days, but she was on edge and spoke before she thought. He stood from where he'd been sitting beside her on the couch, striding wordlessly across the room and folding his arms as he stared out the window. Hermione could see his reflection against the darkness outside, his face half-obscured by his hair.

"We've been through this before, Hermione," he said in a low voice. "I am not prone to optimism – I never have been; I said I would try, but you cannot expect me to change overnight."

She got up quickly and went to stand beside him, touching his arm lightly. It hadn't been her intention to offend him, and spoke earnestly to try and diffuse the situation.

"I don't want you to change," she said. "It's just nice to take a step away from reality for a moment and pretend – _imagine_ – what it would be like if Voldemort was defeated and we could just live however we pleased."

"I don't-" he began.

"I know it's wishful thinking," she cut in, "but just humour me, please? Tell me… where will you be in a month?"

He held her gaze, his eyes lit in the glow of the wall torches across the room, either side of the fireplace.

"Where will you be in a month?" she persisted. "Exactly a month from now."

He sighed, but then his expression softened and his face became pensive as he appeared to take her question seriously. A brief smile flitted across his features before he spoke.

"In a month," he began, "I'll be sitting at the High Table, in my usual place, watching this year's graduates cross the dais to accept their parchments from the Headmaster. You'll be one of them, of course, and I'll be forced to bite my tongue so as not to smile as you step up to receive your top-grade NEWTs, some of the highest in Hogwarts' long and distinguished history."

Hermione snorted wryly. The NEWT graduation ceremony was traditionally held a month after the end of the school year, when the exam results were known and the former students could be presented with their parchment and honours.

"Go on," she prompted.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her against him and continued, "I'll try not to look too disgusted as Potter and Weasley manage to graduate, mostly thanks to _your_ hard work on their behalf."

"Afterwards, when the festivities are in full swing, you'll boldly approach me at the High Table and ask me for a dance, spouting some rubbish about the Head Girl and tradition. I, of course, will only accept under the Headmaster's warning frown, and the rest of the faculty and students will wonder if you've been Confunded and who managed to spike the punch to hoodwink even the Potions master's legendary sense of smell."

Hermione laughed as he tapped his nose, and then took up the story herself.

"And so we'll dance," she said fondly. "You'll hold yourself stiffly because you don't want to give the game away, but I'll persist and rest my head against your shoulder. I'll close my eyes, blocking out everything but the feel of your arms around me, and I can imagine you scowling over the top of my head at anyone who dares to raise a questioning eyebrow at our embrace."

"There will be a lot of scowling," he commented idly.

She twisted her head around to look up at him, seeing the tinge of regret in his tone also mirrored on his face.

"You'd rather I not make a public display of how I feel," she concluded, trying to keep the disappointment from sounding in her voice. She knew he valued his privacy, but perhaps she had foolishly believed that might change when the war was over and he was allowed to really live again.

"I don't generally favour public displays," he agreed, "however there are exceptions to the rule, and I would gladly make one for such an occasion as your graduation. Having said that, I just wonder… I don't want people thinking any less of you because you're… because of me."

She stared at him, dismayed. "Severus, if there's anyone who feels they can judge me on who I choose to love, their opinion is worth nothing to me anyway."

He sighed, running a hand tiredly across his face.

"You believe I mean that, don't you?"

"I do," he assured her. "I believe you mean it now, but-"

"And I'll continue to mean it," she said firmly. "Have some faith in me, Severus. Yes, I've defended my feelings for you to my closest friends, but not because I care what they think of _me_; I did it because I want them to understand what I feel for _you_. If anyone asks why I love you, I'll tell them, and if they don't accept it, they're not worth my time. I won't let peer pressure tell me what I should be feeling."

His lips quirked up in a smile as he said, "No, you never were quite as impressionable as others your age, were you?"

She smacked his arm gently, but couldn't help smiling at the carefully veiled compliment. They stood silently together, staring at each other's reflections in the glass. Hermione couldn't tell what thoughts were running through Severus' head, and he closed his eyes after a while.

"Severus?" she asked finally, almost frightened to break the silence and destroy the lingering imagery their words had created. "Will you really dance with me at my graduation?"

He opened his eyes again, meeting her reflection's gaze, and Hermione could have sworn his arm tightened imperceptibly about her shoulders.

"If I can," he said softly.

* * *

While Hermione's time in the lab was still mostly spent brewing for the Hospital Wing – the need for potions seemed never to end – Severus was busy with another round of Wolfsbane Potion, the most crucial to date. The full moon fell at the end of the week, and on Thursday night the plan was for Lupin to leave Hogwarts with the completed potion and liaise with those werewolves who would join their side of the war in exchange for the brew.

"They know if we win the war they will have continued access to the potion," he had said quietly one night when Severus expressed concerns over the werewolves keeping their end of the deal. "It is in their best interests to help us."

The number of werewolves Lupin had managed to recruit in his last two trips outside Hogwarts was astounding – almost a hundred at last count, and the most trusted of those had taken it upon themselves to recruit on his behalf during the weeks he was back at the school.

Consequently, Severus was required to make an enormous amount of the potion to ensure there would be sufficient dosage for all those who wanted it. Hermione insisted upon helping him when it came to casting the charms, and he accepted her assistance on the first night with little protest. On the second night, however, he would not be swayed so easily, insisting two sleepless nights in a row were a recipe for disaster when it came to both making the potion and her approaching NEWTs.

She argued that she could sleep late the next morning if she had to, and Pepper-Up Potion was quite acceptable to be used during the exam period, despite his dislike of such a practice.

"Fine," Severus said in a low voice. Hermione suppressed a smile of triumph as he continued, "If you wish do the best for both of us, fetch the roll of parchment on my desk. I need it for quantities."

The instant she stepped from the lab to the sitting room, though, the door slammed closed behind her.

"What-" she began, trying the doorknob only to find it firmly locked. Realising she had been tricked, she stormed over to his desk and picked up the roll of parchment. Unravelling it, she discovered it to be entirely blank.

"Of all the Slytherin things to do," she muttered angrily, walking back to the door and banging on it with her fist. "Severus! Don't be stupid. I'm not going anywhere, so you may as well let me in to help."

There was no answer, and as she listened, she couldn't hear a sound from within the other room. It seemed he had not only locked her out, but also blocked out her inevitable protest with a Silencing Charm.

She knew better than to even attempt to break whatever ward he had locked the door with, so instead she crossed the room and threw herself down on the couch. Staring petulantly into the empty fireplace, after some time she found herself growing tired.

Hermione sat upright with a growl of anger, determined not to fall asleep until Severus emerged from the lab, if only to spite him for keeping her out. Flooing back to her own room, she gathered a pile of revision notes and textbooks, and returned to the sitting room to make the best of the time she had.

It was a petty and childish idea, she reflected, tossing aside her quill just past one in the morning and standing up to stretch. Still, it was petty of him to lock her out, too; she only wanted to help.

When the door opened finally opened again, just past four, Hermione looked up from the textbooks and parchment she had spread out all over the coffee table. Her glare of defiance faltered at his exhausted demeanour.

"What are you doing?" His voice was hoarse as he leant against the doorframe.

"Studying," she said. "Did you actually think I would sleep?"

"I thought," he bit out angrily, "you would use your common sense and take better care of yourself."

"I _am_ taking care of myself," she snapped back. "I'm making good use of time that would otherwise be spent lying awake and debating whether I should force my assistance on you whether you wanted it or not!"

He huffed out an angry breath and pushed away from the door, walking unsteadily across the room.

"Don't be stupid, Hermione," he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bedroom. "Go to bed."

He closed the bedroom door, leaving it quite clear to Hermione it wasn't his bed he meant for her to sleep in. She stood slowly, gathering up her parchments and books into a neat pile, dismayed at his reaction. She had thought, after waiting up almost all night, that he would let her stay with him as she had the previous night, or at least help him to bed and then leave.

She waited a few minutes, undecided, then crossed to the bedroom door and tried the handle. Unlike the lab door earlier, it wasn't locked or warded, and after a moment of further decision she opened the door quietly, deciding it was worth his ire to attempt to explain herself.

When she approached the bed, though, he was already asleep, sprawled out over the top of the duvet, still fully clothed. Sighing, she sat down on the edge of the bed and toyed with the cuff of his sleeve.

"I wish you weren't so stubborn," she said softly. A trickle of perspiration ran down his temple, and she stood up again, resolved; at least while he was asleep, he would accept her help without protest.

Drawing her wand, she used the spell he had taught her to remove his clothes, cast a cleansing charm over his sweaty skin, and drew the duvet out from under him to drape it across his lower half.

He slumbered on, and she gazed pensively at his face for a moment before stowing her wand and retreating back to her own room.

* * *

Hermione deliberately avoided Severus' rooms throughout most of the following day, instead choosing to spend the time with Harry and Ron, encouraging them to go over some Charms and Transfigurations theory with her. Surprisingly, they readily agreed, Harry seeming happy to take his mind off the more serious, practical study he was doing with the Headmaster.

The afternoon passed quickly, but Hermione grew restless at dinner in the Great Hall, knowing Severus would be preparing to brew the final batch of Wolfsbane shortly. Unsure as she was of how he would react after her ministrations the previous night, she found herself unable to stay away.

Parting with Harry, Ron and Ginny in the common room after dinner, she went to her own room and then Flooed to Severus' quarters. He was already in the lab, and didn't speak a word when Hermione sat down opposite him and began slicing and weighing ingredients for the third and final brew.

"I apologise for last night."

The words came out of the blue, and Hermione looked up, surprised, to find Severus had set his wand and knife aside. He was watching her, his chin resting on one hand, and evidently had been studying her for some time.

"I was tired and frustrated," he continued quietly, "and I know that's not an excuse, but..."

She nodded as he trailed off, and he clasped his hands in front of him.

"I don't like being… smothered, I suppose," he explained with some difficulty. "It's not something I'm used to, and it makes me uncomfortable."

She could see him struggling to articulate what he was feeling, and that, more than his words, was a sign of his sincerity.

"Is there a difference between smothering someone and caring for them?" she asked. "If it comes across wrongly, I'm sorry, but I really do mean the latter."

"Perhaps I need to learn the difference," he conceded.

"And perhaps I need to learn when to accept no for an answer." She smiled wryly as he chuckled.

"I think," he said, extending a hand across the bench to grasp one of hers, "that we're both far too obstinate for our own good."

"Yes," she agreed, "and I think you have a potion to make."

"_We_," he corrected. "We have a potion to make."

Hermione smiled to herself and picked up the next jar of ingredients as Severus stood up, turning to the cupboard to retrieve a long, glass stirring rod. She hated arguing with him; they were both too stubborn to back down without a fight, but she felt when they _did_ talk things through, they understood one another surprisingly well. Disagreement resolved, they set to work on the potion together, Hermione stirring and adding ingredients with care and concentration as Severus cast the charms.

The night was long and tiring, and the following morning, a ragged-looking Severus and an exhausted Hermione took two crates up to the Headmaster's office, both full of flasks brimming with the Wolfsbane Potion. Lupin was waiting, calm but vaguely apprehensive as Severus reminded him the dosage must be in exact proportion to the human weight of the werewolf to work.

The Defence teacher left the school a short time later, the crates of potion carefully packed into a large trunk that floated behind him as he strode down the path towards the main gates.

After returning from Dumbledore's office, Hermione stood at the window in Severus' sitting room, watching Lupin go and hoping things went according to plan. When he disappeared behind a bank of trees, she turned back to the room, catching Severus stifling a wide yawn.

"Sleep?" she suggested.

"An hour or two, at best," he said. "The Headmaster wishes to enlist my help with Potter's lesson later this morning."

* * *

The Room of Requirement had become something of a training room for Harry, working with the Headmaster practising offensive spells above and beyond those taught even in NEWT level Defence. It had become apparent that not even the Killing Curse alone would rid them of Voldemort, Dumbledore believed there were other spells, though, some bordering on Dark magic, that when used with the right intent might weaken Voldemort sufficiently for the Killing Curse to work. These were the spells he was teaching Harry in the privacy of the secret room.

The problem then arose from Harry's reluctance to throw the curses at Dumbledore in practice. Even with the old wizard's confidence and ability to block anything Harry did manage to send his way, Harry couldn't muster the intent required to cast some of the uglier curses at the Headmaster.

In a stroke of brilliance, Dumbledore enlisted Severus' help.

"I don't hate him," Harry explained when Hermione questioned the logic of that decision to her friend, "but there are still bad feelings there from what he's done in the past. If I can focus on them, I'll at least be able to practice the curses a bit."

Hermione didn't doubt Severus' ability to block whatever curses Harry threw at him, either, but she wondered exactly how far her friend might go under the guise of practice… and how far Severus might go, too.

Unlike the Headmaster, who had been simply teaching Harry the spells he would need to cast, Severus knew Harry would need to be able to cast and block at the same time. He cast hexes – albeit minor ones – with lightning speed, barely giving Harry a chance to do anything but maintain a shield. Even when the younger man stumbled and that shield faltered, Severus didn't let up.

"Do you think the Dark Lord will let you cast in turn?" Severus mocked.

Harry climbed to his feet as barrage of spells continued, giving him no chance to even form the words of any of the curses Dumbledore had taught him. With Hermione and Dumbledore looking on from a protected corner of the room, Severus goaded Harry on, taunting him until Harry grew angrier and angrier and began faltering in even his blocking spells.

"Pathetic, Potter. Even your mongrel godfather could have done better than that."

As Severus no doubt knew he would, Harry took the attack on Sirius personally, redoubling his efforts against the older man and finally managing to cast some of his own curses, too. In his blind rage, though, most of the curses failed to hit their target, ricocheting off the stone walls in explosions of colour.

Harry persisted, though, and gradually regained some focus as the need for Severus to cast and block himself preventing him from taunting the other man. The longer they went on, the more evenly matched the duel became. Severus was the more experienced, by far, but he was also tired and Harry's anger was bringing out the power in his magic.

"Shouldn't you stop them?" Hermione asked Dumbledore worriedly as a vicious curse shouted by Harry shot past Severus' momentarily faltering shield. The Headmaster shook his head unconcernedly.

"Harry is doing well," he said. "Very well. I wish I'd had the foresight to have Severus work with him earlier."

Hermione frowned doubtfully, but turned her attention back to the duelling pair.

"Come on, Potter," Severus goaded, a shield of shimmering blue bursting from his wand and swallowing a another nasty curse Harry sent his way. "If you don't start concentrating now, you'll never survive a minute before the Dark Lord. You'll be dead, just like your par-"

With a shout of rage, Harry screamed an indecipherable curse and a jet of white light shot from his wand. Severus saw it coming and was already mouthing the counter-spell, but Harry's curse shattered the shield that emerged from his wand and blasted Severus off his feet. Flying back across the room, he hit the wall hard, landed on his feet, but then dropped to his hands and knees.

Pushing out past the protective shield Dumbledore had cast around their corner, Hermione crossed the room quickly, reaching out for Severus' arm.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded but didn't raise his head.

"Just give me a minute." His voice was pained.

Hermione turned to Harry, who was still standing in the middle of the room, panting hard, his eyes flashing with anger and triumph. Dumbledore stood beside him, looking extremely pleased as he surveyed them all.

"Well done, Harry. That was excellent work."

"Excellent?" Hermione echoed. "What _was_ that spell? You could have really hurt him!"

"On the contrary," Severus voiced from behind her, climbing slowly to his feet. "I do believe we are finally getting somewhere, Potter."

Hermione glanced from Severus back to Harry, who looked momentarily thrown by the sudden change of attitude from the older man and lowered his wand in his tightly clenched fist. It was almost as though Harry had forgotten Severus had merely been antagonizing him out of necessity rather than spite… Hermione _hoped_ that had been his intention, anyway.

"What was that spell?" Hermione asked again.

Harry frowned and looked down at his wand, examining the length of wood silently for a moment.

"It was just a Confundus spell," he said perplexedly. "Different to the one we were taught in class – I found it in a book. I thought I could confuse him and then cast a stronger curse afterwards."

Dumbledore looked as surprised as Hermione felt, but it was Severus who voiced the surprise.

"Am I to believe," he began, looking anything but convinced, "you broke through my shield and knocked me halfway across the room with a mere _Confundus_?"

Harry shrugged, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"That's what I did," he said. "At least, that's what I was thinking about doing, and then… I don't know how… talking about my parents like that… I got so angry, I snapped."

"I daresay that was Severus' intent," the Headmaster spoke up, and Hermione saw Severus nod shortly beside her. "Tom will seek to taunt you, too, but he will not realise your anger gives you power. Now that you are learning to harness that anger, it is a powerful weapon indeed."

* * *

Later that night, Hermione was sitting up on one side of Severus' bed. Her Arithmancy textbook was propped open in her lap, but her eyelids were heavy after not sleeping the previous night.

Emerging from the bathroom dressed in his sleep pants, Severus stretched out beside her and was about to lie back when she reached out and stopped him.

"What's that?"

She ran her fingers over his back, where the beginning of a bruise was starting to emerge across his shoulder blades.

"Probably from when your friend hexed me into the wall," he said wryly.

Frowning, Hermione nodded. He _had_ hit the wall quite hard… it was a shame Dumbledore hadn't considered the room might have required something softer than rough stone around its perimeter during Harry's training.

"Well, that's easily fixed," she said, setting her book aside and getting up, only to be halted by his voice.

"It's not necessary, Hermione," he said. "It will be gone in a few days."

"I know it's not necessary," she said gently, not wanting to end up arguing again as they had two nights ago. "I'd like to, though. May I?"

He was silent for a moment, but then nodded.

Squeezing his shoulder in a brief gesture of gratitude, she stood up and went into the bathroom, searching the cabinet full of jars and phials for a basic bruise salve. Returning to the bedroom, she found him leaning back against the headboard.

"Well, I can't reach it like that, can I? Turn over," she instructed, climbing back onto the bed next to him. She laughed softly when he scowled at her tone, and then knelt beside him as he lay down on his stomach.

She frowned at the darkening blue-black of the bruise. It probably wasn't all that painful; she didn't doubt he would have ignored it if she hadn't noticed it herself. Uncapping the jar of salve, she scooped out a small amount and rubbed it across his shoulder blades.

"Mmm, that's nice," he murmured as she worked it into his skin, his voice muffled he rested his head on his arms, face turned towards her. Enjoying the feel of the smooth skin, she continued kneading his back long after the salve had soaked in, moving up as far as his neck and then down to the waistband of his pants. He hadn't spoken for some time and his breathing was soft and even, his face concealed by a curtain of limp hair; she wondered if he had fallen asleep. Smiling impishly to herself, she ran just the tips of her fingers inside the top of his pants. When he didn't react, she grew bolder and moved her hand further down to rub his buttocks.

"Hermione."

His warning growl rumbled up from deep in his chest, but Hermione simply leant forward and kissed his back between his shoulder blades.

"Just relax," she said softly. Returning her attention to further up his body, she rubbed his shoulders and neck, watching his face as he hovered on the borders of sleep again.

When her hands grew tired and she was sure he had fallen asleep, she withdrew, climbed off the bed to undress and then slipped back next to him, pulling the duvet up over them both. Turning on her side to face him, she propped her elbow up on the pillow, one hand beneath her head. She reached out with the other to push his hair back from where it was obscuring his face, and was surprised to find his eyes open and watching her.

"I thought you were asleep," she said softly.

He made a muffled grunt into his pillow before raising his head slightly and adding, "Almost."

Feeling his smooth, warm skin beneath her hands had sent a tingle of excitement running down her spine, and she selfishly wished he wasn't so exhausted.

As though reading her thoughts, he said, "That was… exquisite, Hermione. I wish I could return the favour tonight, but I'm far too relaxed even to move."

"I know," she said, slightly disappointed despite being so tired herself. Trying to cover her disappointment, she snuggled closer to him and added cheekily, "You can make up for it another time."

* * *

The weekend before NEWTs began, the Headmaster put the final part of the plan to lure Voldemort to Godric's Hollow into action. It had been decided that Malfoy, having gained the trust of the Order and especially Hermione, would come by news of the plan and take that news to his father and Voldemort.

In order to convince Voldemort further, Malfoy staged a conversation with Hermione in the Potions classroom on Friday night. Both students were using a rare free hour to practice brews for the up-coming practical exam, and while they would normally work in Severus' lab, they had moved to the classroom so Malfoy could show Voldemort the conversation.

In the Headmaster's office, deciding exactly what information Hermione should 'reveal' to Malfoy, Severus expressed concern over informing Voldemort of the Vow Malfoy had taken to serve Dumbledore. The Headmaster, having informed the Order of the Vow already, stressed it would more dangerous for the Head Boy _not_ to mention it, in case his father or Voldemort had come by the information already.

Hermione, listening but not contributing to the discussion until that moment, considered both points of view.

"I think now that the Order is aware of the Vow, it would be foolish not to mention it," she mused, ignoring Severus' dark look as she disagreed with him, "but how is Voldemort going to believe you're not telling him about Godric's Hollow at Dumbledore's instruction? You couldn't go against the Headmaster if he told you not to reveal it, so Voldemort would have to believe we're using you to set him up."

"On the contrary, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said. "As far as Tom is concerned, and from what he will see if he looks into Mr Malfoy's mind, I am not even aware Mr Malfoy _knows_ of the plan. It is you who has told him, in confidence and without my knowledge."

"It will seem to Voldemort I was never meant to know the plan at all," Malfoy added, looking at Hermione. "Only your misplaced trust has given me access to it."

Severus still appeared dubious, but it was still the most certain way any of them could come up with to convincingly set up the confrontation.

That evening, Hermione and Malfoy brewed in silence for some time, until the Head Boy enquired what it was that seemed to be troubling her. After some skirting around the issue, Hermione finally explained that Harry wanted to visit his mother's grave on her birthday, but that he wouldn't let his best friends go with him, not even part of the way.

Hermione rambled on aimlessly for some time about how she and Ron were like Harry's family and they always wanted to be there for him, but sometimes he just closed himself off and wouldn't let anyone in.

Malfoy, as they had planned, convinced her not to pressure Harry about it.

"It's obviously something he feels strongly about," the Head Boy said. "And if he feels he needs to do it alone, maybe you should just step back and let him go."

"I know," Hermione sighed, extinguishing the flame under her cauldron and crossing the room to retrieve a rack of flasks to bottle the potion. "I just… Harry going out there alone, it worries me. I know he can't hide away here forever, but what if something happens to him?"

"No one will know he's there," Malfoy said. "Nothing will happen."

Faux conversation complete, Malfoy sent a missive to his father, giving nothing away but saying he had news of great importance that could lead to the Dark Lord meeting Potter alone.

At breakfast in the Great Hall the following morning, Hermione, Harry and Ron all watched from the Gryffindor table as the Malfoy's large eagle owl swooped low over the Head Boy, dropping a sealed piece of parchment in his lap.

Opening the letter and scanning it quickly, Hermione could have sworn Malfoy paled slightly before he folded the parchment and secreted it in a pocket of his robes. Looking up at the High Table, Hermione saw the Headmaster watching Malfoy carefully, but the Slytherin was looking down at his plate, slicing his bacon a little too methodically.

Later that day, in the Headmaster's office with Draco and Severus, Hermione discovered Lucius Malfoy had requested his son meet him at the castle gates that very night. A second letter, to the Headmaster, stated the elder Malfoy wished to assess his son's readiness for the NEWTs, and ensured the Head Boy would return to the castle the following morning.

After a brief discussion in which Malfoy assured the Headmaster he was prepared to meet Voldemort and divulge the plan, Hermione left the office without the others, intending to spend some time with Harry and Ron, who were out at the Quidditch pitch taking a well-earned break from more serious matters.

Severus and Draco went back to Severus' quarters to discuss the finer points of the plan and await the time when Draco would have to leave, and Hermione headed down the stone staircase and out past the gargoyle into the main corridor.

A noise at the end of the corridor drew her attention, she let out a startled gasp as she found herself face to face with Lucius Malfoy.

_What's he doing here?_ her mind panicked as she took a step back. _He's supposed to meet Draco at the gates this evening._

"Well, well," he drawled, an amused smirk creeping onto his face as he drew level with her and stopped. "If it isn't Miss Granger. What a _pleasant_ surprise."

"Mr Malfoy," Hermione said, lowering her eyes and stepping back to allow the wizard to pass. She hoped fervently he wouldn't pay her close enough attention to see her shaking. She knew she was safe in the corridor just outside the Headmaster's office… she thought she was safe… but just his mere proximity was terrifying after the last time they had met.

Instead of moving past her, though, he sidled closer.

"Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance again, my dear." He spoke softly, his voice dripping with insincerity. "It's been a while since… when was it I last had the pleasure of your company? Ah, Christmas, of course. Such a pity our friend Severus had to interfere… still, no chance of that now, is there?"

"If you're here to see the Headmaster, I expect he's waiting," Hermione said stiffly, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"Oh, I make a practice of arriving a few moments early for meetings," he said, the silver tip of his cane catching Hermione under her chin and forcing it up. "Just in case there are any… unforeseen distractions along the way."

She shrank back and felt the hard stone wall behind her, and Malfoy stepped even closer. She tried to twist away, but her head was tipped right back, the cane digging painfully into the soft tissue underneath her jaw.

"I don't think the Headmaster will condone you assaulting a student right outside his office," she managed to say, squeezing her eyes closed to prevent him from seeing her terror.

"Such accusations without proof," he murmured. "Here I was thinking we were merely having a friendly discussion."

"I have nothing to say to you," she replied, cursing the fine weather that saw the inside of the castle almost deserted this afternoon.

"Indeed," he said. "Perhaps I shall save what I have to say to you for the next time we meet."

He lowered his cane and stepped back a mere inch, but it was enough for Hermione to bring her hands up between them and push him away. She gasped, startled, as he caught her wrist in a bruising grip, forcing her close to him again.

"Do not believe for an instant you are safe outside these walls," he warned, licking his lips suggestively. "When we meet again, I _will_ have my way."

He released her and Hermione heard the rustle as he straightened his robes. Keeping her face turned aside to conceal the hot tears brimming in her eyes, she willed him leave this time. His expensive boots clicked on the stone floor as he strode away, and she sank against the wall in relief.

"Good day to you, Miss Granger," he said as the stone gargoyle sprang aside and he stepped onto the staircase leading to the Headmaster's office. "Best of luck with your NEWTs."

Hermione heard him greet the Headmaster just as the gargoyle closed again, and then she was alone in the silent corridor.

Thoughts of joining her friends outside to enjoy the fine weather had vanished, and her steps automatically took her to Severus' quarters. The sitting room was empty, and she found Draco in the lab. The door to the passage and stairs down to the Potions classroom was open, and Hermione guessed Severus was retrieving something from his other office.

Malfoy looked up at her sudden entrance, raising a questioning eyebrow at her odd expression.

"Your father's here," she said abruptly. There was a clatter as the Slytherin dropped his stirring rod, cursed and retrieved it, cleaning up the potion it had splattered across the bench.

"Where?"

"In the Headmaster's office." Hermione pulled out a stool from under the bench Malfoy was working at and sat down, clasping her hands together in her lap and willing them to stop shaking. "I saw him in the corridor when I was leaving."

"Saw who?" Severus entered from the passage carrying a bundle of parchments and closed the door behind him.

"My father," Malfoy answered for her.

"Did he speak to you?" Severus asked sharply, dropping the parchments on the bench and immediately crossing to where Hermione sat, taking her by the shoulders.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Hermione? What did he say?" Severus prompted urgently.

She glanced at Malfoy, who said, "Believe me, whatever he said, I doubt it will surprise me."

Reluctantly, she relayed the basics of their conversation. When she had finished, she raised her eyes to meet Severus'. His face was dark with fury, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled quick, angry breaths.

"Charming," Malfoy muttered under his breath.

"Just… it doesn't matter," Hermione said quietly, holding Severus' gaze and willing his temper to stay in check. She swallowed, the discomfort of the action reminding her she had omitted the elder Malfoy's use of his cane to prevent her from leaving before he allowed it. She didn't intend to mention it, either.

"It doesn't matter?" Severus echoed, disbelieving. "Did he say anything else?"

She shook her head, looking away.

"Did he hurt you?"

She forced out a short laugh. "In the school, right outside the Headmaster's office? Do you think he'd try such a thing?"

The look on Severus face clearly gave away the fact that he expected nothing less from the other man, and Hermione pulled away from him, pacing across the room in an effort to calm herself.

"I should go," Malfoy said, vanishing the contents of his cauldron with a wave of his wand. "I doubt Father's polite conversation with the Headmaster will last much longer."

He watched Hermione awkwardly for a moment, before adding, "I'm sorry for what he said to you."

She shook her head. "It's not your place to apologise," she assured the Slytherin. "Try not to appear disgusted when he tells you about it, which I'm sure he will. You're supposed to hate me, remember?"

Malfoy smiled faintly, walked to the sitting room door and then paused.

"I guess I'll see you both tomorrow, then."

"You will," Severus said firmly, obviously sensing Malfoy's hesitation as Hermione could.

Setting his jaw, Malfoy turned again, and a moment later they both heard the door close as he left via the first floor corridor.

"Now, are you sure Lucius did not hurt you?" Severus crossed to where Hermione had resumed her pacing, halting her midstep by standing directly in her path.

"I'm fine," she snapped, turning from him and pacing a few more steps away before she stopped again. "I just…"

She shook her head, aware of Severus' gaze on her back as she burst out angrily. "How could Professor Dumbledore _invite_ him into the castle?"

Severus sighed, beckoning for her to follow him out into the sitting room. She complied, watching silently as he conjured two tea cups and a pot. She nodded at his look of askance, and he proceeded to pour the tea as he spoke.

"In the eyes of the Ministry, unless proof is provided, Lucius Malfoy has done nothing wrong. He cannot be prevented from meeting with the Headmaster of his son's school."

"It doesn't make sense." She sank into the corner of the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest, and accepted the steaming beverage he passed to her. "We all know what he's done, what he's still capable of… if Harry had seen him today…"

"It is well that he didn't," Severus said. "Potter is not known for his subtlety; he may have unthinkingly given the game away."

"I wonder why he wanted to speak to the Headmaster this time?" Hermione mused. The warm cup clasped between her hands finally seemed to have calmed her nerves sufficiently to focus on the facts rather than emotions.

"That, I don't know." Severus drained his cup and set it aside. "Though I don't doubt Lucius would take pleasure walking the hallways of this school simply because he can. As you said, we all know what he has done, but without proof, our word is nothing; not even Dumbledore's word would stand up at the Wizengamot without proof, and especially not against money such as the Malfoys possess."

"I hope we have some proof of what he's done when this is over," she said.

"I believe we will," he replied. "If Lucius believes without a doubt that Voldemort will prevail, there will be no reason for him to conceal his identity or his loyalties any longer. His confidence in himself, in Voldemort and in his son will be his downfall."

Hermione nodded, thinking for a moment before she added quietly, "I don't envy Malfoy – _Draco_, I mean… when his father discovers what he's done…"

Severus' expression hardened but he didn't answer, nor did he speak for some time after that.

It was a sleepless night they spent together, waiting and wondering if the Dark Lord would take the bait, and whether they would even know initially, or if Voldemort would send Draco on his way without a word.

It was only just light the following morning when they returned to the Headmaster's office to await the Slytherin's return. To Hermione's surprise, Harry was already there, pacing around the circular office ceaselessly. When Draco did return, the tension in the room was palpable. There was a glimmer in his eyes as he looked at each of them in turn before speaking only three words.

"He'll be there."

Voldemort had taken the bait, eager to defeat Harry once and for all, and positively gleeful with the irony of doing so on Lily Potter's birthday… and at her grave.

One way or another, in just eight days now, it would all be over.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Author's Note: Sorry about the delay with updating. I've been working on it almost every day since I posted last time, but it just didn't seem to come together until the last few days… mutters something about new scenes which weren't part of the original chapter plan …I miss being able to sit down and write for 8 or 10 hours straight until the whole chapter is done, but I just don't have that sort of time anymore… (yes, I really used to do that in the past. lol.)_

_On the bright side, the next chapter already has about 3,000 words, so hopefully it won't be as long a wait… but I said that last time, didn't I?_

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. Last but never least, thanks to Potion Mistress, who always manages to take time out of her hectic life to beta for me._


	43. Farewells and Foreshadowing

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 43**_  
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On Sunday, a rare moment of excitement and good cheer came in the form of the Quidditch final between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Traditionally held on the weekend before final exams, Dumbledore insisted the game be played despite the trials currently facing four of the key players in Harry, Malfoy, Ron and Ginny. It was, after all, their final year, and their last chance to compete for the Cup with their fellow housemates.

Undoubtedly, winning the match would be wonderful, but it wouldn't hold the same jubilation felt at such successes in their earlier years; it was more of a chance to escape reality for a few hours, to pretend they were carefree teenagers whose biggest concern was dropping the Quaffle or missing the Snitch and costing their team the match. It saddened Hermione that there were far greater problems for all of them now.

Packed into the stands with her fellow Gryffindors, Hermione's voice grew hoarse cheering her housemates. In the closest competition for fifty years, Gryffindor was one hundred and forty points ahead when Malfoy, in a spectacular move, snared the Snitch just ahead of Harry, giving Slytherin the victory by a mere ten points.

Ron shook hands with Malfoy at the end of the match, prompting the rest of his team to do the same, and Hermione found herself far less disappointed at losing to Slytherin than she had been in previous years.

Harry's opinion on the matter became clear later that night, when Severus offered his commiserations in front of Hermione and Dumbledore. Hermione looked uneasily between the two men, wondering whether Harry would take the almost-sincere words at face value.

"No matter," Harry said after eyeing the older man warily for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. "I've got another match coming up that I'd much rather win."

* * *

The week the seventh-year students took their NEWT exams was a strange time for Snape. After weeks of endless meetings, brewing, time spent with Hermione and working with Draco and Potter, he was suddenly left with very little to do at all. Further experimentation with the Wolfsbane Potion at this stage was pointless - who knew whether there would be another opportunity to use it? His other research had fallen by the wayside in the last six months, and he couldn't seem to concentrate enough to pick it up again at the present time. The nagging thought echoed in the back of his mind that there may not be another opportunity to use _that_, either.

He saw very little of Hermione in between her practicals, theory exams and last-minute revision. When he did see her, it was only for a short time in the evenings, and she was usually too exhausted to participate in anything more than a quiet conversation, regaling him with brief details of that day's exams before retreating to her own room to sleep.

Spending so much time alone, he was growing restless, as he had during the first weeks of his confinement. He remembered his own NEWTs well, though, and occupied himself as best he could; the exams were both physically and emotionally draining at the best of times, and with the added worry of the approaching Monday, it was no wonder the Head Boy and Girl both seemed near breaking point.

During the time the students were undertaking their Potions practical, Snape found himself pacing back and forth across his sitting room, unable to concentrate on any one task for more than a few minutes. He was slightly bemused at his anxiousness; teachers never attended the strictly-controlled Ministry examinations… though, to be fair, he had never particularly cared for their outcomes in the past, either. Those who were worthy of success would do well on their own merit, and those had been few and far between in his time as a teacher. He wanted Hermione to do well, though… more than well. He knew she was capable of brewing anything a NEWT level Potions exam could throw at her, even though she lacked the natural instinct to know what ingredients may or may not successfully modify a potion. Still, experimentation in the field of potions was a dangerous thing, and not learnt until well beyond NEWT level. He was confident it was something she could learn later, if she chose such a path.

It was following those thoughts that he realised, startled, after all the time he had spent with her, they had never talked about what she planned to do beyond Hogwarts. It was unthinkable that she wouldn't go on to further study of some sort. He knew she enjoyed Potions, was very good at Arithmancy and skilful at Charms, but there were an infinite number of careers one could follow with some or all of those competencies.

He felt a twinge of regret that he hadn't asked her about her plans thus far. It was the Head of House's job to take students through career counselling, of course, but only now he realised how little interest he had shown in her future beyond encouraging her to study sufficiently for the NEWTs.

Thinking back to all the students of his own House who Snape had guided in making decisions for later in life, he considered what McGonagall might have advised Hermione. The Head of Gryffindor would only want the best for her star student, of course, but it occurred to Snape that Hermione may not be attracted to the highest paying, most glamorous job. He liked to think he knew her reasonably well, and it seemed to Snape that facing a challenge and making a difference was more important to her than money or recognition. She had come a long way, he reflected with a wry smile, from the overeager first-year intent on proving her worth to the whole of Hogwarts and the wizarding world beyond.

Severus wondered if she might go to Europe, to one of the wizarding universities their home country sorely lacked. She would be accepted at almost any of them, no doubt. Or would she stay here and apprentice with a Master of her chosen field? Practical experience was as highly regarded as university study in most fields, but he knew from his time as a Head of House that Muggle parents often favoured their sons and daughters having a more traditional, Muggle-like education.

He wondered what would happen between them if she left the country… She had made it clear she had no intention of walking away from him… but it was a very different world out there. Would she change her mind?

He pushed that thought aside, recalling her reassurances to the contrary. Have some hope, she had said. He would try.

Lost in thought, the green flare of the Floo brought him back to awareness, and Hermione appeared, potions kit in hand, looking tired but happy.

"Well?" he enquired as she set the kit down on the coffee table. "How was it?"

"Difficult," she admitted. "Exhausting… but I think I might have done all right."

"Might have?" he echoed, folding his arms across his chest. "Explain."

Her mouth twitched slightly as she sat down, waiting until he sat as well before she spoke.

"My first two potions were exactly the colour and consistency they should have been. My third was almost right - I think it was a little on the green side of aqua, but I know it's better to add too much powdered bicorn horn than not enough."

"It sounds as though you may have done all right." He smirked, tossing her words back at her, and her face broke into a grin.

"How could I not, really?" she mused, resting her head against the back of the couch with a tired sigh. "I've spent more time making potions in the last six months than studying for all of my other subjects put together."

She yawned widely.

"I'm glad it's nearly over, though," she continued. "My head's just about ready to explode with all the information crammed into it."

"What do you have left?" he queried, mentally trying to add up all the exams she had taken so far. "Defence, isn't it?"

She nodded, stifling another yawn.

"The practical. Tomorrow morning, outside."

"Outside?" He frowned.

"Yeah, I remember one of the seventh-years saying last year that the Ministry usually sets up some sort of obstacle course in the Great Hall – a bit like Professor Lupin did it in my third year, only that was outside. Anyway, they've finally decided to move it outside for more space; Professor Dumbledore said the stones of the hall are temperamental about being magically expanded."

"Fascinating," he murmured, remembering the strange practical exam his own Defence NEWT had incorporated. Similar to Hermione's description of last year's exam, the Great Hall had been filled with a series of small, box-like rooms, each one leading on to the next. Entering the first room, one encountered a creature, a trap, or a carefully disguised Ministry official casting a specific spell at them. As one succeeded in overcoming each obstacle – subduing the creature, navigating past the trap or blocking the spell - they moved on to the next room, and the next, until finally reaching the end. Not completing the whole course didn't guarantee a failing grade, and it was a good thing, too. He had been one of very few to make it to the end. Then again, he knew more about Dark magic than most of the other students, and had become adept at defending himself from untoward attacks whilst at school. It was only weeks after that exam that he had taken the Dark Mark.

He wondered what the students would have to face this year. It would be good practice for what was to come, though the Ministry never used spells that were more than temporarily debilitating.

"An early night seems to be in order, then," he said a while later, catching her eye after she failed to suppress a wide yawn. "I daresay you'll need all your strength for tomorrow."

She nodded and rose from the couch; instead of going to the fireplace as he expected her to, though, she gestured for him to stand with her, and when he complied, she embraced him in a tight but quick hug.

"What was that for?" he asked, bemused, as she pulled away again.

"I miss you," she said simply, her face flushing slightly at the declaration. "I wish I could stay, and I probably could, but…"

"No." He shook his head. "One more day, one more exam." He paused. "May I look forward to your company tomorrow night?"

"I'd say so." Looking up at him, she added shyly, "Where else do you think I would be on my first night of freedom?"

"I thought perhaps you might want to celebrate with your friends," he suggested. "It's not every day one finishes their schooling."

"Well, we can't go to Hogsmeade, and freedom probably isn't quite the right word just yet. I'll save the real celebration with them until the graduation ceremony, when we all know if we've actually passed or not."

He barked out a short laugh.

"You still doubt yourself," he mused, shaking his head.

She was silent, and he studied her for a moment.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?"

"Not really," she said slowly, suddenly looking anything but certain. "I just… I've never really done that well in Defence exams. My marks have been good, just not…"

"Not top of the class?" he suggested. She frowned, and he added quickly, "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be the best, Hermione, as long as you realise no single person can be the best at _everything_."

"One would hope Harry will be the best at Defence," she joked tiredly. "I'll just be content not to do something ridiculous like I did in my third year exam."

He raised an eyebrow questioningly, trying to recall what he may have heard in the staff room that year.

Shamefaced, she explained, "I got tricked by a Boggart, of all things."

"Ah." He didn't smile; many a great witch or wizard had been tricked by the horror of their worst fear materialising before their eyes. Once, many years ago, he recalled a fellow Death Eater saying they would rather face a Dementor than a Boggart. At least then their fears could only be as terrible as reality.

"And your Boggart was?" he prompted.

"Professor McGonagall," she said, her cheeks reddening again. "She told me I had failed everything."

He couldn't help but laughing then, and she smiled sheepishly at his amusement. It was so like the younger Hermione to have been concerned by such a thing… and so unlike the Hermione before him now, he realised with a trace of sadness. If only the worst she had to worry about now could be something as trivial as schoolwork. He wondered what form her Boggart would take tomorrow if she were faced with the creature again…

* * *

Around one the following afternoon, Draco stopped by Snape's quarters with a big smile on his face, heralding the end of exams. He was pleased to see the boy smiling; the Head Boy had far too little joy in his life lately.

"Finished, finally!" he exclaimed, and then glanced around the room. "Where's Hermione?"

"Celebrating with her friends, I would expect," Snape said. "I haven't seen her yet, although I believe she will be here later this evening."

The Slytherin looked confused and opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. Snape frowned.

"Draco?"

The blonde shook his head.

"I just thought she'd have come to see you. I think her exam was a bit rough."

"Rough, how?" Snape stood up, a niggle of worry creeping into his mind. In his time as a teacher, he'd heard of more than one student hurt during their Defence NEWT practical… not badly, but nevertheless…

"Oh, she wasn't hurt," Draco said, sensing Snape's worry. "I saw her afterwards, though, and she looked pretty shaken up." He shivered. "Not that I blame her."

"It was a difficult test, then?" Snape surmised, his mind still on Hermione, though he didn't fail to notice the slight dullness to the Head Boy's tone, either. Perhaps it was just fatigue; it had been a hard week for all the seventh-years.

Draco nodded, dropping down into the vacant armchair with a heavy sigh He was quiet for some time, and Snape waited with a patience that belied his desire to find out exactly what Draco – and Hermione – had faced in their exam.

"It was like an obstacle course, of sorts," he began. "Hardly anyone finished it, though. The first part was pretty straightforward; stuff from first, second, third year. You could hear the spells and block them as soon as they were cast, and the creatures were nothing more than a pond full of Kappa and Hinkypunks – you had to wade across it. It got harder, though. I guess the idea was to progress through the years and see how far you got compared to how much you should have learnt."

Snape nodded.

"Of course, as far as the creatures went, they were pretty tame the whole way through. There were Red Caps and one of those horrid Screwts we dealt with in third year, but the Ministry couldn't exactly bring in a Dementor or a vampire or something just for the exam, couldn't they?" He laughed shortly. "The spells got a bit nasty, though, once it got to the non-verbal ones. The rooms – if you could call them that – were pitch black, so you didn't know what was coming at you or where it was coming from, and near the end there wasn't even time to cast a _Lumos_ before the spell came at you."

Snape simply nodded again, refraining from reminding Draco no one in the real world would give their opponent time to cast a light spell, either.

"I got knocked flat by some sort of blasting spell that came from nowhere," he continued, "but I got up and kept going. The last part was…"

He trailed off and as Snape watched he saw a shudder run through the boy.

"Was what?" he prompted.

"It was a Boggart," Draco said, his voice flat. "I knew it wasn't real, and I managed to get past it eventually, but…" He shivered a second time. "…I don't want to see that again."

Snape was loath to ask what Draco's Boggart has been. That it had rattled the Head Boy so much was enough for Snape to know it hadn't been pleasant. Thinking back to his musing on the same creature the previous night, he enquired, "Is that what caught Hermione unawares?"

"I don't know," Draco admitted, pausing thoughtfully. At last, he continued, "It could have been, though, now you mention it. She was in there a while, so she must have got almost all the way through when her time ran out. I wonder what she saw?"

"Any number of the worst outcomes Monday might bring, I would imagine," he muttered, his worry at not yet having seen Hermione increasing another notch.

Draco paled.

"She wouldn't be the only one," he said quietly.

As Snape tried to think of an appropriate response, Draco stood up, brushing down his robes with deliberate slowness.

"I should go and join my housemates for a while before the Leaving Feast, I think," he said. "We are going home tomorrow, after all, and seven years is a long time."

"That it is," Snape agreed. "I hope, by the time the graduation ceremony arrives, that I will be able to farewell your housemates in person."

Draco departed, and Snape stood staring at the empty fireplace, deliberating whether it would be worth the risk of Floo calling Hermione in her room. She might not be there… but what if she was there with someone else? Someone other than Potter and the two Weasleys, the only students aside from Draco with the knowledge he was still alive.

Perhaps he could just throw some powder down and call out for her room, hoping she would notice the brief flare and attribute it to him?

His hand was reaching for the jar of Floo powder when the door leading in from the hidden passageway opened and Hermione stepped into the room. She hadn't been crying, but there was a fearful look in her eyes, above the dark circles of exhaustion, as though she was on the verge of breaking down.

"Hermione?"

She crossed to him without a word, stepping into his arms and resting her head against him. He wrapped one arm around her waist and rested his other hand on the back of her head. The ribbon holding her hair back had come loose, and he worked it completely free, allowing the soft curls to fall freely down her back. They were tangled, and her whole person held a slightly dishevelled look.

After what Draco had said earlier, and seeing the look on Hermione's face now, Snape was almost positive it was the Boggart that had caused her trouble. Her expression as she had moved towards him had been frightening… haunted.

Not knowing what else to do, he stood with her for what seemed like an eternity. Although he couldn't see her face, buried against his chest, she didn't seem to be crying, but every so often a tremor ran through her body beneath his hands.

Eventually he pulled away, her murmur of protest stopping him from releasing her completely. Hands resting gently on her shoulders, he finally offered, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head fiercely, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I'm just glad it's over," she whispered hoarsely. "Now I can just forget about it."

With a sigh, he led her over to the couch and guided her to sit in the corner, releasing his hold on her to conjure a pot of tea and press one of the steaming cups into her hands. She clutched it tightly as he sat beside her, far enough away to give her space if she needed it, yet close enough that he could still reach out for her if the need arose.

"Draco stopped by earlier," he said conversationally. "He said it was a very difficult exam and that not many students were able to complete it."

She shook her head.

"I think I got further than most," she said. "I know I was near the end when… when I… ran out of time."

He nodded encouragingly as she took a sip of her tea. Despite what she had said before, it seemed she was willing to speak about it at her own pace. He didn't press her for details, instead simply waiting for her to continue in her own time.

"Did Malfoy tell you about the course?" she asked at length, and he nodded again. Looking relieved, she continued, "Only he and Harry finished, I think."

Snape raised his eyebrows. That Potter had completed the course was no surprise, nor Malfoy, who had been taught well by his father before he even arrived at the school. That no one else had managed to finish, though, _was_ a surprise.

"You did remarkably well, then," he commented, "if you came so close to the end. According to Draco, the Boggart was the last challenge to overcome."

She looked up sharply.

"How did you know it was the Boggart that stopped me?"

"I didn't," he said, thankful his suspicion had been right. "Draco mentioned how long you spent in the course and that he had trouble with the last part, the Boggart. Coupled with your worry last night over facing the creature, it seemed a logical conclusion."

Hermione didn't answer, biting her lower lip as she stared across the room into the empty fireplace. Her eyes took on a glazed look as she seemed to be recalling what had happened. After a time, she snapped out of her reverie, leant forwards to set her teacup on the table, then sat back and began to speak.

"I knew I was getting near the end," she said. "I'd been in there for ages, but I'd got on all right so far. I closed the door behind me, and the whole room was dark except for the far corner… there was a light… shining down on a body." Her eyes took on the staring, haunted look they had held when she'd arrived. "I walked closer – I had to – the door was on the other side…"

She trailed off and took a deep breath.

"I knew it was a Boggart. It had to be," she continued, the slightest tremble detectable in her voice. "It was Harry… dead… but that wasn't right, because he hadn't done his exam yet. I could have stepped over him to get to the door, but I couldn't bring myself to do that, so I tried to cast _Riddikulus_… obviously not well enough, because instead of disappearing, it changed into Ron."

Snape reached out and gripped her hand, knowing how much even the idea of losing another Weasley would have affected her.

"I kept telling myself it wasn't real, but I had to get rid of him… rid of _it_… before I could go on. I spoke the spell and it changed again. It was Ginny this time… so I tried it again. My mum… then my dad…" She trailed off and withdrew her hand from his, moving closer and burrowing into his side as he placed one arm securely about her shoulders. When she spoke again, the tremor in her voice was more evident than ever.

"It couldn't be them, though. They're well-hidden, and besides, I would have known if something had happened to them. I closed my eyes and kept telling myself over and over again that it was just a Boggart, it wasn't real. It calmed me a bit, not seeing them, I thought I'd finally be able to get rid of it."

Snape held his breath, knowing full well she wouldn't be so upset now if she'd succeeded in banishing the creature at that stage. After the Boggart already having turned into most of her friends and her parents, he had an unpleasant feeling what was to come next…

"At the instant I cast the spell," she went on in a barely audible whisper, "I thought of you. I don't know where the thought came from, but it sensed it… it _knew_."

Snape exhaled the breath he had been holding and closed his eyes. It pained him to see her so upset, but there was a tiny part of him which was glad – not that she had been forced to see her worst fears, but that his death, along with those of her friends and family, was one of them. It was horribly selfish, and he hated himself for thinking such a thing, but it was, in a way, another confirmation of how much she loved him.

Tilting his head sideways, he saw her staring across the room blankly, tears welling up and threatening to spill down her cheeks. Realising he had no idea what words of comfort to offer her, he settled for tightening his arm around her shoulders and remaining silent.

"I lost it," she continued, turning her face into his chest, her breath warm through his shirt as she spoke. "I couldn't… I had to touch you. You were on your back, robes spread out beneath you. You could have been asleep if it wasn't for your eyes… wide open and d- dull. I knelt down and touched your hand… and then your face. You were so cold… so cold."

"It was just… just so real," she finished in barely a whisper, her voice catching.

Stunned and disturbed by such a vivid description of his own demise, Snape swallowed thickly, wondering if his own voice would be any steadier than hers when he finally thought of an appropriate response. Taking her hand from where it lay limply in her lap, Snape brought it up and pressed her palm flat against his breastbone, allowing her to feel the steady thump of his heartbeat.

"More real than this?" he questioned softly.

She bit back another sob and closed her eyes, shaking her head. A solitary tear slipped past her lashes, and he raised his hand to carefully wipe it away.

"They are a product of your fears, Hermione," he said firmly. "Not premonitions. They are in no way indicative of the future, only what you fear may come to pass."

"I know that," she said softly, opening her eyes again and looking up at him. "I do, really, but… it's just hard to be logical when everyone you care about is lying dead in front of you."

He winced at the blunt description, but couldn't disagree, knowing even with his years of experience, he would find it hard to be logical upon seeing a corporeal form of her, dead… it was bad enough to see such a vision in his dreams.

"Try not to think on it anymore," he suggested eventually. At her dubious look, he added, "I know that's easy for me to say, but believe me - dwelling on them will not help you. You've seen your friends since then, alive and well, I'm here, and your parents…" He paused. "Have you written to them recently?"

She shook her head.

"I was going to wait until after the NEWTs to tell them how I thought I'd done, but I don't much feel like telling them about _that_."

"You should tell them about the other exams, then," he persisted. "They'll be anxious to hear from you. Have you told them anything of the war?"

"Not since Christmas," she said guiltily. "I know I should, but I don't want to worry them… they're still getting the _Prophet_, so they knew about… about Beltane. Mum sent me a letter the day after it happened, but I didn't read it for two more days after that. Mr Weasley used to bail dad up and ask him all these ridiculous questions about electricity and plugs and…"

She trailed off, shaking her head with a sad smile.

"I daren't tell them about Monday in case the owl is intercepted, and they'll know about it soon enough via the _Prophet_, anyway."

_So they will_, he thought grimly, hoping the news that reached them would be favourable.

"You should tell them something," he said. "Just a quick note to say your exams are over. There is parchment on my desk, if you wish," he offered.

"No, it's okay, I'll go and write it up in the Owlery and send it this afternoon. I need to get ready for tonight, too; Professor Dumbledore wants Malfoy and I to greet everyone as they arrive at the Leaving Feast."

"Ah, of course." Snape realised all of the students save for a select few – namely Hermione, Potter and the two Weasleys – would be leaving on the Hogwarts Express the following morning. Even Malfoy was going home, lest his father sense anything amiss in his continued absence.

Turning back to him as she stood up, she said, "Thank you. I feel better just having told someone about what I saw in there. I didn't want to worry Harry or Ron – God knows what either of them saw… I don't even know if Ron made it that far. It's still frightening to think about it, but I'm a bit more rational now."

He nodded understandingly. She _looked_ more rational than when she had first arrived, too. Her hair was still a mess, though, and her robes slightly askew. Stopping her before she returned to the door, he set her robes straight on her shoulders and brushed her hair back from her face.

"That's better, he said with a smirk.

"Thanks." She smiled sheepishly. "I'll see you after the feast, although I don't know how late it will be."

He chuckled, squeezing her shoulders as he led her to the door and opened it.

"I'm sure I'll be here."

* * *

The Leaving Feast was a sombre occasion, considering the seventh-years should have been overjoyed to finish their schooling.

Joining Harry and Ron at the top end of the Gryffindor table after welcoming the students into the Great Hall with Malfoy, Hermione reflected that the Leaving Feast had seldom held the joy they should have… for her, at least. At the end of third year, Peter Pettigrew had escaped, forcing Sirius into hiding. Fourth year, the school had been mourning the loss of one of their own and fearing for what the return of Voldemort would mean. Fifth year saw Sirius' death in the Department of Mysteries, and sixth year, more students were lost in the attack on Hogsmeade.

Indeed, Hermione realised, they had little cause in the past to celebrate the end of the school year.

The murmur of chatter in the Hall died down as Dumbledore stood and raised his arms in a call for silence.

"Another year is over," he began, his voice carrying the length of the Hall without magical enhancement. "It has been a year of change, and of growth. For too many of us, however, it has also been a year of sorrow and grief. I ask you to pause a moment to remember all those who are no longer with us."

The sympathetic eyes of many at the Gryffindor table turned towards Ron or Ginny, and the silence in the Hall was absolute for a full minute until the Headmaster spoke again.

"Times have been hard, and such times are not yet over. Despite the trials we have faced, we have still managed to smile, to continue living and learning, and defy those who would seek to deprive us of such liberties."

Dumbledore glanced around the room, his eyes coming to rest on the Slytherin table; many of its older occupants appeared discomfited.

"The time is near at hand," he continued, his face solemn, "when many of you will be asked to make a choice. For some, it will be easy; for others, not. It will be a choice between what you have been told and what you have learnt; what you know and what you _believe_. I only ask, when that time comes, that you think carefully about any commitment you make, for once your choice is made, few chances will you have to change your mind."

Glancing around, Hermione saw many of the youngest students looking confused. The fourth and fifth-years appeared thoughtful, and the older students displayed a mixture of outward emotions, from confused to fearful, and from defiant to appreciative.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"On a happier note, I would like to congratulate all our seventh-years, who have completed their NEWTs and will be leaving us tomorrow. I hope I may look forward to seeing all of you here for the graduation ceremony in approximately three weeks, and I trust that what you have learnt here within these walls will serve you well in yours lives from this day forward."

The Hall broke into applause for the graduating students, and over the furore, Dumbledore called, "Now, let us all eat together one last time. Enjoy!"

The tables were suddenly loaded with food, and the Hall was filled with chatter and the clanging of cutlery as everyone began the sumptuous feast. Hermione, Harry and Ron were quieter than the other seventh-year Gryffindors; Dean and Seamus were especially raucous in their excitement over finally finishing school, and Hermione managed to half-heartedly laugh along with them most of the time.

When the feast concluded, Hermione returned to the common room with the other Gryffindors. Mindful of the thought she had promised Severus she would return that night, she still felt she should spent at least some of the evening with her classmates; they would all be going their separate ways in the next few weeks… who knew when or if she would see some of them again.

It was almost midnight when the others finally started heading up to their dormitories, either to sleep or pack the last of their belongings in preparation for the train journey tomorrow. Returning to her own room, Hermione realised with a jolt of panic she hadn't even thought about packing yet. Granted, she had a few extra days at Hogwarts than most of the others, but would Gryffindor tower allow her into the Head Girl's room after the year was officially over and the position was no longer hers?

That thought in mind, she decided to pack most of her belongings tonight anyway, just in case. Crookshanks, curled up in the middle of her bed, watched interestedly as she tried to fit everything into the box she had transfigured into a trunk. Her own had been lost at her parents' home over Christmas. Even shrinking things magically, she still had trouble squeezing it all in. It never ceased to amaze her how much she managed to accumulate over the course of a school year, especially this year, as there hadn't been any trips to Hogsmeade to purchase anything.

Satisfied the last few things could wait until morning, she gathered the pile of Severus' books that seemed to have migrated to her room over the last few months, and Flooed through to his quarters.

Despite the late hour, she knew he would still be awake, and as she stepped from the hearth, she saw him at his desk, quill in hand and parchment laid out before him. He glanced up at her, then down at the books piled in her arms, and he frowned.

"What are they?"

"I, uh, seem to have borrowed them," she said sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't realise I had so many."

Severus set his quill aside and stood up, crossing the room to take the top half of the pile, which was threatening to topple.

"I was looking for this the other day," he commented, shelving a brown, leather-bound tome in an empty space on one of the upper shelves. "How was the feast?"

"All right," she admitted, telling him a little of Dumbledore's speech as they put the rest of the books away. "I don't think it's really sunk in yet that I won't be back here next year. I suppose it will only really become real when I'm not on the train come the first of September."

"It is a strange feeling, leaving this place after so long," he agreed, looking around the room pensively. "Though, I wasn't away for particularly long. I suppose I shall leave again, one of these days."

Hermione perched on the armrest of one of the chairs, watching the thoughtful expression on his face.

"Are you going to teach again?" she asked.

His gaze shifted to meet hers, and he considered her silently for some time.

"I've been thinking about that lately," he said finally, coming to sit in the armchair. Hermione twisted around and lowered herself down from where she sat so she was instead sitting partly beside him and partly in his lap, her back against the armrest.

"And?" she prompted.

He sighed, toying with the hem of her dress robes where they lay near his hand.

"I honestly don't know," he admitted. "It's what I've always done, and I do enjoy it… sometimes… but that's not to say there aren't other things I would rather do if the chance ever came."

"Such as?" she asked.

"Research," he said without delay, and Hermione realised he had actually given it quite a bit of thought. "But one cannot make a living from that."

"Some people can," she argued. "If the Ministry or a- a research company knew what you'd done already, they'd fall over themselves to offer you a job."

"If the Ministry knew all the things I've done in the field of potions, they'd offer me a one-way ticket to Azkaban, Hermione," he reminded her darkly. "You forget that many of the concoctions I made for Voldemort had no antidote such as the Cruciatus potion did."

"You've still done more good than harm," she argued stubbornly, "and don't say people won't see that, because they will. Dumbledore will make sure of it, if they're too dense to realise it themselves."

_And so will I_, she added silently. Hermione wondered what would happen if he gave up teaching and their respective careers took them in different directions. Thinking about it, she supposed working long distances apart – even as far away as another country – wasn't such a problem in the wizarding world as in the Muggle one. Apparition made covering long distances across the country simple, and the international Floo network was well-organised and easily accessible.

"What's happening from now until Monday?" she asked suddenly, turning her attention to the immediate future.

"I believe most of the Order is arriving late tomorrow afternoon," Severus said. "No doubt there will be some sort of meeting over dinner. I believe Albus plans to explain my situation at that time."

Hermione looked up at him, surprised.

"It's about time, too," she said. "We've been wondering when he's going to tell everyone the truth for weeks."

"Who's we?" he queried, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Malfoy and I," she said quickly, knowing he wouldn't be impressed to think she had been 'discussing' him with Harry and Ron.

"Hmm." He frowned, but didn't say anymore on the subject, instead continuing, "Sunday will be the time for final plans and preparation, I would imagine; everyone will be on edge, no doubt, so it will be wise of Albus to give us all some time to ourselves. I don't know what is to happen on Monday, yet, though chances are Albus will want everyone ready and waiting at Godric's Hollow long before Potter arrives."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip worriedly as she thought about what Dumbledore might have planned for the rest of them."

As if sensing her trepidation, Severus leant forwards and kissed her on the cheek, then again on the lips as she turned her face to his.

"Let's not think about that tonight, hmm?" In one swift movement, he hooked one arm around her back, the other under her knees, and stood up, lifting her with him.

In the bedroom, they undressed one another slowly, exploring every inch of each other's bodies. Her fingers traced every contour of his skin, every bone, joint, blemish and scar. He squirmed slightly as she brushed over the knife scar below his ribs, and then again as her fingers followed a light path along each row of the clawed werewolf scar. He explored the smoothness of her stomach, the firm roundness of her breasts, and ran his lips over the lone, faded scar over her collarbone. Hardly a word passed between them – no words were needed – and then, finally, they were together again.

In the hazy languor after their love-making, Hermione almost fell asleep listening to his breathing quieten, rousing only when he moved beside her. Gesturing for her to roll onto her side, he pulled her against him, back to chest, and draped an arm loosely about her waist. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, warm and soft, and hear an occasional sniff as her unruly hair tickled his face.

"'Night, Severus," she mumbled sleepily, clasping her hand over his on her waist and entwining their fingers together.

"Goodnight, love," he returned with a contented sigh. "And congratulations."

Hermione laughed softly, and it wasn't long before her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep.

* * *

At around ten the following morning, Hermione, Harry and Ron went to Hogsmeade Station to farewell their housemates and friends going home on the Hogwarts Express. If any of the other students thought it strange the trio wasn't joining them, nothing was said on the matter.

As one of her last official duties as Head Girl, Hermione strode through the train, making sure that students' luggage was in their compartments, not spilling out into the corridor, and that the youngest students were all settled for their first journey home. As she reached the end of the last carriage, Malfoy stepped from one of the compartment and, upon seeing her, turned and gestured for her to follow him back inside.

Glancing behind her, Hermione saw the corridor of the carriage was empty, so she stepped into the compartment and closed the door. Malfoy looked at her for a moment, his face unusually pale, and Hermione realised with a start this was likely the last time she would see him until they potentially came face-to-face at Godric's Hollow.

"I, uh, I just wanted to say thanks," he began awkwardly, "for… well, for everything you've done… for trusting me, or giving me the chance to prove myself trustworthy. Severus has been great, of course, but it was nice to see a friendly face in class… even if we had to pretend we still hated each other."

Hermione smiled. "I think by this year we were well practiced at glaring at one another."

"Yeah," he said, a trace of regret colouring his tone.

"Did you talk to Severus this morning?" she asked suddenly. Hermione had left his quarters just before breakfast, promising she would return later that day, but she wondered if Malfoy had considered bidding his former Head of House farewell.

"I did," he said. "It was strange… I'll be seeing him in two days, but it almost felt like I was saying goodbye for good."

"Goodbye to the school for good, maybe," she said reassuringly. "I'm sure you'll be seeing more of Severus."

He nodded uncertainly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "I suppose you better go, if you're not catching the train."

Hermione glanced at her watch and realised it was almost eleven. Looking back at Malfoy again, she was lost for words or actions. Finally, she extended her hand to him, saying, "Good luck on Monday."

He hesitated a moment, then clasped her hand firmly in one of his.

"And you," he replied. "I'm sure I'll see you there."

Hermione slipped out of the compartment unnoticed by students further down the corridor, and hopped off the train just as the high-pitched whistle signalled its departure. She spotted Harry and Ron further down the platform, waving to Dean and Seamus, who were yelling something out of the window of their compartment.

Hermione waved to them as well, fixing a smile on her face which, from a distance, would have appeared genuine enough. As the train pulled out of the station, though, and she caught a glimpse of Malfoy staring out the window, it seemed to her, too, that she had said goodbye for good.

* * *

**To be continued**

_Thank you to everyone who continues to read and review! I love reading all your comments. This chapter has a heavily-edited scene which was probably too graphic for this site in its original form. The uncut version is over at OWL. As I said the last time I posted an edited chapter here, better to be safe than sorry._

_On the graduation ceremony, I don't know if there is such a thing, but it seems fitting there would be some sort of official ceremony/celebration once the results are known._

_Many thanks to Potion Mistress, the best beta I could ever hope for, who stayed up way past her bedtime so I could post this chapter so soon._


	44. The Darkest Hour

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

_Author's Notes: Thanks to Potion Mistress, whose beta-reading makes this story so much better. Thanks also to everyone who has read and reviewed – your comments are always welcome and appreciated._

_

* * *

_

Walking back from the train station with Harry and Ron, Hermione found herself taking in her surroundings with a touch of melancholy. For all the times she had walked the path from the high iron gates to the castle doors, she wondered whether she had ever truly appreciated the glory that was Hogwarts' castle and grounds. The warm summer sun shone on the glistening lake, the Forbidden Forest and sweeping lawns a subtle kaleidoscope of browns and greens. The stones of the castle, strong and ancient, changed colour with the light and the time of day. Grey and cool in the morning, the west-facing wall turned brown in the afternoon sunlight, radiating the warmth of the fading day.

The castle itself seemed to be thrumming with a quiet energy, or was Hermione simply imagining things? Perhaps it her own anticipation she could feel, more evident now, in the absence of the distraction her classmates had previously provided.

"When is the rest of the Order arriving?" Ron's voice broke the silence as they reached the shadows of the castle.

"This afternoon, according to Dumbledore," Harry said. "I don't think anything is happening tonight, though. He'll probably call a meeting in the morning to discuss everything. We've been through it a bit, but I still really don't know what the plan is."

Hermione eyed her friend worriedly.

"Doesn't that bother you, not having a clear idea of what you're going to have to do?"

"It did," Harry said slowly as they reached the castle doors. He held the door open for Hermione and Ron, followed them inside and closed it before he spoke again. "Dumbledore says it will become clear what I have to do when it needs to be done, that it might be the most simple thing, in the end, which will see us win. It's the prophecy… it has to happen a certain way. I might not know what that way is now, but I will."

"Seems a bit like going into battle with your eyes closed," Ron murmured hesitantly, seeming, like Hermione, reluctant to dissuade Harry's mystifying confidence.

"It does seem that way," he agreed, "but I really don't have a choice. This is the only chance we've got to lure Voldemort into a trap. If we can't make it happen on Monday, who knows how long it will be before another chance comes along? I know I can do this – _we_ can do this. We have to."

Despite feeling slightly uncomfortable with the lack of a clear-cut plan, Hermione knew Harry trusted Dumbledore's judgement and, above all, simply wanted the waiting and wondering to be over. If he was meant to defeat Voldemort come Monday, it would happen, and if it wasn't meant to be…

Hermione shivered in the sudden coolness of the castle after the warmth of being outdoors… or was it a result of the disturbing thoughts passing through her mind? She brushed them aside, trying to focus on her friends' conversation again, which had turned to other things. Too many people had sacrificed far too much for this to end badly now, she told herself firmly. They would prevail… and if she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that just yet, she could at least _hope_.

That afternoon, Hermione packed up the remainder of her belongings, stowed them in her Transfigured trunk and left the Head Girl's room for the last time. With the other students of Gryffindor gone for the summer, Harry, Ron and Ginny had decided to spend their remaining nights in the castle in the common room. Hermione levitated her trunk out and lowered it down next to Ginny's, behind one of the long couches.

The youngest Weasley gave her an odd look as Hermione sat down in one of the armchairs, curling her legs up beneath her.

"Are you staying here with us?"

"Well… yes, for a bit," Hermione said slowly, confused. "Is that all right?"

"Oh, of course it's all right," said Ginny dismissively, lowering her voice as Harry and Ron came down the stairs from the boys' dormitories, trunks floating behind them. "I just thought you'd be staying with- with Snape."

"Oh, I- well, I suppose I will, but I'll leave my things up here." It was second nature for Hermione to spend nights with Severus while her belongings remained in her room. Besides, she didn't think he would appreciate her dumping the oversize trunk in the middle of the sitting room… not to mention the reaction if anyone else happened to see her dragging it down there.

Harry and Ron joined them in the chairs facing the fireplace, and they all talked until it was time to head down to the Great Hall for dinner. Looking around at each of her friends in turn, though, Hermione could sense a bitterness surrounding each of their smiles, shrouding any real happiness in their eyes. Ginny's smile was genuine enough, but it slipped when she wasn't paying attention, as though it took conscious effort to keep it in place. Harry was laughing at something Ron was saying, but his hand was gripping the armrest of his chair a little too tightly, clenching and unclenching in a gesture of nervousness.

There was something missing for Hermione, too, and it was with a start she realised that something – or some_one_, rather – was Severus. She often thought about him when they were apart, but in the presence of her friends she thought of him less than when she was alone.

It was unthinkable, six months ago, that she would have wanted to be anywhere _but_ with her friends in the days leading up to the final confrontation with Voldemort. And yet now she wished she was somewhere else, curled up in one of Severus' armchairs… or better yet, in his arms.

On their way down to dinner, walking a few steps behind Harry and Ron, Ginny seemed to sense Hermione's unease… and the reason for it.

"There's no shame in wanting to be with someone you care about, Hermione," the younger girl said quietly, startling Hermione from her thoughts as she gestured to her brother and Harry. "They'll understand; they know how you feel, and it's not as though you haven't been here for all of us these past few weeks."

"But I care about _all_ of you; I just can't be with all of you at once." She laughed softly. "Well, I could, but I don't think Harry and Ron would appreciate Severus' presence, or vice versa."

Ginny laughed, too, and said, "No, probably not."

Reaching the bottom of the main staircase, they heard Harry and Ron talking to another familiar voice, and Ginny gave a shriek of delight and rushed forward, throwing herself at the tall figure of her now-oldest brother, Charlie.

"You're early," she said, hugging him tightly. "We didn't think you'd be here until tomorrow."

Ginny, Charlie and Ron went into the Great Hall together, and Harry beckoned to Hermione, his happy expression faltering as the others disappeared.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Not really."

"Neither am I." He sighed. "I suppose we better put in an appearance, though."

* * *

Following dinner, Hermione did return to the common room for some time with Harry, Ron, Ginny and Charlie; they sat around the fireplace, listening to the two younger Weasleys describing their exams to their older brother. Unlike that afternoon, when they had all studiously avoided the topic, the conversation turned to the approaching confrontation with Voldemort.

"How are you feeling about it, Harry?" Charlie enquired. "Confident?"

"I don't know if _confident_ is the right word." Harry blew out a deep breath as he spoke. "But I know I've done all I can to prepare myself, so I just hope that will be enough. It's not as if I'll be there alone; it's good to know I'll have the whole Order behind me."

"And we'll all be there to back you up, too," Ginny said firmly.

"The rest of us will," Charlie said, frowning at his sister. "You won't."

"What?" The red-haired girl's voice could have cut ice, and Hermione exchanged an apprehensive glance with Ron and then Harry.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny," Charlie crossed his arms, his frown deepening. "You're not in the Order, and you're not even of age. You'll be going nowhere on Monday."

"Like _hell_ I won't." Ginny was on her feet, her eyes flashing with anger but also brimming with tears. "If you think I'll stay here like some… some coward, while you all go off to your– to fight _him_… It's not going to happen."

"No." Charlie rose to his feet, looming over his younger sister. "What's not going to happen is you going out there, putting yourself in harm's way, for something that has nothing to do with you."

"_Nothing to do with me_?" Ginny yelled. "Those bastards murdered my parents – _our_ parents – almost our whole bloody family! Do you honestly expect me to stay here and wait for the news they've killed the rest of you, too?"

"Ginny-" Hermione began quietly, reaching for her friend. The younger girl tore her arm away, backing out of Hermione's reach.

"Be reasonable, Ginny," Ron said, trying to appear calm, though Hermione could see the panic in his eyes. "There's nothing you can do out there. It would be better if you were here – there are still things you can do to help, and we won't have to worry for you, which means we'll be able to concentrate more on what we have to do."

Ginny stared at both of her brothers, breathing quickly through her nose.

Despite her attempt to calm the red-haired girl herself, Hermione had the sudden feeling that she and Harry were in the middle of something that, while they were close friends, should only be between Ginny and her family – her brothers.

"Perhaps we should leave you to talk about this," she said quietly. None of the Weasleys seemed to have heard her, and she beckoned for Harry to follow her, making her way to the portrait hole and out into the corridor. Just as the portrait closed behind them, they heard Ginny's voice again, high and accusing.

"They're right, you know," Harry said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans as they wandered down from Gryffindor Tower. "She shouldn't be out there. She's too young."

"I know," Hermione said. They were all too young to be facing such trials, really… but what choice did they have?

* * *

Hermione left Harry a while later; he mentioned visiting Professor Lupin, who had returned that evening with some of the werewolves he had recruited to help the Order. When they parted ways, Hermione headed for Severus' quarters and, as she had many nights in the past, found him sitting at his desk, staring across the room and twirling a quill between his fingers.

"Hi," she said softly.

One corner of his mouth quirked up, but he didn't speak, and she crossed the room towards him.

"I thought you might have emerged for dinner," she said. "All the teachers have gone, except those in the Order. Madam Pomfrey is still here, but she was at dinner when everyone was talking about Monday, so I think Dumbledore means for her to know, anyway."

Severus set his quill aside and sat back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head.

"The Headmaster is calling an official meeting in the morning to discuss business for Monday. He has asked me to attend after some initial explanations are put forth to the Order."

He looked worried, Hermione noticed, and she wondered if it was worry for what his reception might be in the morning.

"They'll be pleased to know you're all right, you know," she said conversationally, perching on the edge of his desk and ignoring the disapproving look he gave her. She knew it annoyed him when she did it, but he couldn't avoid her when she was sitting right in front of him.

"Another wand on our side will be useful, no doubt," he answered noncommittally.

"It's more than that," she insisted. "They know what you've done for the Order over the years. God, Severus, most of them think you gave your _life_, in the end. Whatever you might think, they'll be glad it didn't come to that."

"Most of them will," he conceded. "There will always be those suspicious of my long absence, Hermione. Don't tell me you haven't heard rumours of my defecting to the other side and having fooled the Headmaster all these years."

She looked down, not saying anything.

"I'm not daft, Hermione," he continued, quite mildly given the subject matter. "There will always be those who believe I chose my loyalties according to the winning side, those who will wish me harm for either past indiscretions or others' actions which I failed to stop."

"It's unfair of people to blame you for that, though. They should look beyond what is immediately obvious."

"They should," he agreed, "but people seldom do. It has been a long time since the wider population's opinion of me concerned me in the least, and I do not intend to let it bother me now."

"It bothers me," she said stubbornly, but dropped the subject.

Instead, she told him about the row in the common room and how she and Harry had wisely left before they, too, were dragged into the argument.

"I understand that Ginny's scared she's going to lose the only two brothers she has left," Hermione finished, "but that's no reason to put herself in danger. Charlie was right to put his foot down, so to speak, and forbid her from coming with us on Monday."

"I should think he would forbid it," Severus said reprovingly. "Miss Weasley is not yet of age. I daresay that family has lost enough without putting another of their number unnecessarily at risk."

"That's exactly what Charlie said, but Ginny wouldn't listen. I don't know how they're going to work it out; she won't back down, but neither will Charlie, and anyone else who might have some influence over the decision – Professor McGonagall, perhaps, or Professor Dumbledore – they'll both back Charlie. I hate to see them at odds right now, though."

"Perhaps Miss Weasley will calm down overnight," Severus suggested. "Her brothers are only looking out for her best interests, and I daresay she will realise that, given time to think."

"I hope so," Hermione sighed.

"And what of Mr Potter?" he asked. "I thought you might be spending some time with him tonight."

She shook her head. "He wasn't in the mood to talk much when we left the common room, and then he decided to go and see Professor Lupin. They haven't talked for a while and… I don't know, I think he–" she paused, struggling to find the right words "–feels close to his parents when he's with Professor Lupin."

"Understandable," Severus said thoughtfully. "Lupin is… the last of that group of friends. It is a given that Potter will feel some sort of affinity to his parents through one of their friends."

"That's the thing… I honestly don't know what he's feeling," she admitted. "He seems strangely optimistic all of a sudden… no, I don't think _optimistic_ is the right word. He doesn't seem concerned anymore that no one knows exactly _how_ he's supposed to defeat Voldemort, but I can't tell whether he's genuinely confident or whether he's just putting it on for the sake of appearing so. Maybe I'm mistaking optimism for resignation; he knows what he has to do, and if he dies trying…"

Her voice trembled as she trailed off, and Severus stood up and put his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him.

"Don't think that way," he said reproachfully. "Remember what you told me? Have some hope, hmm?"

She mumbled her response into the soft fabric of his shirt, and he drew back from her.

"What was that?"

"I said, I'm trying, but the façade is wearing a little thin."

He smiled sadly, raising one hand to cup the side of her face and brushing her cheek softly with one thumb as he said, "I know, Hermione. We're all wearing thin, but it won't be long now."

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, Hermione found herself stumbling out of Severus' bed, bathed in a cold sweat, having woken from a dream; she could hardly remember it, but even now, awake, it filled her with an inexplicable sense of dread. She stood, glancing behind her to see whether her sudden exit had woken Severus; he slept on, and she walked to the window, plucking the blanket from the back of the armchair and wrapping it around her shoulders.

Standing at the window, she gazed out at the landscape shrouded in darkness. The thin moon offered little illumination, and the lake appeared a dark, flat mass surrounded by the towering trees of the Forbidden Forest. A movement caught the edge of Hermione's vision, and she peered more closely at the fringe of the forest where the trees met the sweeping lawns leading up to the castle. She watched for a few minutes, but didn't see another sign of whatever had been there.

Maybe she had imagined it… although the undergrowth on that edge of the forest was particularly thick. Furrowing her brow in thought, she realised she was looking at the same place where she had met the moonfilly, that night in February, so long ago. The tiny creature had come out of thick undergrowth, sacrificing its most precious gift to save Severus' life.

She glanced back into the darkness of the bedroom, hearing his soft, even breathing across the room. It was hard to believe that night had been less than four months ago. On Monday, he would be in as much danger as he had been the last time he had faced Voldemort… more, perhaps. And so would she… so would they all.

Fragments of her dream came back to her then, and she realised, through coincidence or otherwise, it had been about the days following the night Severus had nearly died at Voldemort's hands.

Returning to bed beside Severus, she found he had rolled onto his side, facing the edge of the bed. She crawled in behind him, wrapping one of her arms around his waist and resting her face against the chilled skin of his exposed upper back. He roused briefly, clasping his hand over hers before falling back into slumber with a soft sigh.

Hermione lay awake for a long time, trying to memorise everything around her; the room, the feel of the soft duvet and the slight roughness of Severus' hand covering hers; the sound of his soft breathing and the smooth skin of his back. The wan moonlight threw a sickly light over his pale skin, and his hair was a dark stain across the pillow beside her head. Unbidden, the image flashed before her eyes of her Boggart in his form, hair similarly splayed beneath his head as he lay cold and motionless before her. Squeezing her eyes closed in a futile attempt to banish the vision from her mind, she let out a small, stifled sob and nestled closer to him. She focused on his voice, echoing in her head from the previous night… _They are not premonitions… only what you fear may come to pass._

_

* * *

_

The following morning, Hermione gathered in the crowded Headmaster's office with her friends, the rest of the Order, and a group of men and women she didn't recognise. The unkempt witches and wizards seemed to look to Professor Lupin, who stood with the group, and Hermione realised they must be the werewolves he had recruited on the Order's behalf.

Surprisingly, there was also a group of ex-students present, older than Hermione, but not to her knowledge members of the Order. There were some Gryffindors among them, and Ron, Harry and Ginny crossed the room to talk to their Quidditch teammates from years past, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson. Lee Jordan, best friend of the Weasley twins when they had been at school, was also there, and Hermione couldn't help but notice how much he had changed since she had last seen him.

The student who had spent more time laughing than studying at school was now a young man with very little light in his dark eyes. Hermione hadn't noticed him at the Weasleys' funeral – surely he had been there, though – and now she realised just how far-reaching the effects of the Weasleys' deaths had been felt. Beyond her own close-knit group of friends, she hadn't considered the true impact of their deaths. It was without a doubt their old classmates were here to honour their friends and the commitment Fred and George would have made to fight with the Order.

Allowing her gaze to wander across the other side of the room, Hermione smiled at Hagrid, standing in the far corner and towering over all those around him. McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey – the only teacher present who was not in the Order – were standing near Hagrid, talking to the grizzly-haired ex-Auror, Moody. Hermione watched him surreptitiously for some time, wondering what his reaction to Severus would be when Dumbledore revealed all that had happened in the past few months. It would be less-than-favourable at best, and Hermione hoped Severus would control his temper despite whatever accusations Moody might throw at him.

As though sensing her scrutiny, or perhaps returning it with his magical eye, Moody swung around suddenly and fixed both eyes on Hermione. She looked away quickly; she had no wish to be drawn into any sort of conversation with the ex-Auror, especially knowing his opinion of Severus' supposed disappearance.

The murmur of conversation quietened as Dumbledore entered from a side door, Fawkes perched on his shoulder. He gestured for everyone to sit – Hermione smiled bemusedly at the fact there seemed to be just enough chairs for everyone – and sat behind his own desk, gazing at the group before him.

"Upon entering this room today," he began quietly, "you have entered a binding contract not to speak of anything discussed in this room with a third party. You are also bound to remain at Hogwarts until the Portkeys created by myself take you – those of you who are _of age_ – to the designated location for our mission. If any of you wish to withdraw, now is the time to do so. You, too, will be bound to remain at Hogwarts until our mission is complete. Does anyone wish to take their leave?"

The room was silent, and Hermione noticed Ginny had not reacted to the Headmaster's comment that excluded her from the mission. She seemed to have accepted her brother's decision overnight.

"Very well," Dumbledore continued, looking pleased. "I commend you all on the decision to remain. The task ahead of us is a difficult one, yet one which I hold a firm belief will be a success."

There was a murmur of agreement, but Hermione couldn't help notice the faces of more than a few witches and wizards seemed doubtful.

"Before we move on," he continued solemnly, "there is one of our number who has not yet joined us here today. Many of you have questioned his whereabouts in the past months, and I regret I have been unable to answer your questions until now… but if you will allow me to explain, all can be revealed at this time."

Picking up his wand from where it lay on the desk, Dumbledore pointed at the fireplace, and the flames crackled loudly; it was obvious to all who were present that it was a signal of some sort. Hermione held her breath as, a moment later, green flames flared and Severus stepped from the hearth. Wearing his teaching robes, he looked every bit the Potions master who had vanished from public life nearly four months before.

The stunned silence lasted all of an instant before the room exploded with noise. It was immediately obvious who in the room had been aware of the situation already; McGonagall remained near the back of the room, watching with a pleased expression on her face. Lupin, too, simply nodded at Severus by way of greeting.

The ex-students were watching their former Potions master with curious expressions as he stood on the hearth with a carefully schooled face.

The first person to approach Severus was, surprisingly, Madam Pomfrey, who pushed her way from the back of the room to reach him, her lips pursed together in a tight line. As Hermione looked on, though, her eyes glimmered and her face cracked into a smile; unclasping her hands, she grasped one of Severus' and wrung it tightly.

"I _knew_ you were still with us, young man," she said, beaming. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Thank you, Poppy." Severus looked uncomfortable, but tolerated the older woman's joy nonetheless.

"Good ter see yeh back, Prof'sor," Hagrid called, his voice booming from the far side of the office, and Severus nodded to the half-giant.

Many of the other Order members, amongst their exclamations of surprise, were looking to Dumbledore for further explanation.

"Severus," the old wizard spoke after a moment, "perhaps you might take a seat and I can explain to everyone a little of what has happened these past few months."

"Please do," came a rough voice across the room, and all eyes turned to Moody. He was glaring at Severus with an expression of utmost loathing and distrust.

"Alastor," Dumbledore reproached, "if you would please save your comments until after I have spoken. I believe my explanation should satisfy even the most dubious of us here today."

Moody's face darkened, but he sat back in his chair, magical eye remaining fixed on Severus.

Coincidentally – or not, if the Headmaster was at all involved – the only spare seat was in the corner of the couch next to Hermione; she could have sworn there hadn't been room there before. Severus sat without sparing her a glance, folding his arms stiffly and looking down at the floor as Dumbledore began to outline the events that had led to the discovery of Severus' duplicity and the night Voldemort attempted to kill him.

The Headmaster briefly outlined Harry's role in saving Severus' life the following day, not mentioning the exact nature of the blade or the effect it had on the Dark magic already within him.

He moved on to speak of the work Severus had continued to do for the Order while confined to his rooms, as well as reminding them of his earlier efforts to create the antidote to his Cruciatus potion. There was a murmur of appreciation from the group of werewolves when they realised Severus was responsible for the potion that was allowing them to live close-to-normal lives, and Dumbledore also mentioned the time Severus had spent working with both Draco and, more recently, Harry.

"Without his tireless efforts," Dumbledore finished, "I do not doubt we would be far less likely to be ending this war tomorrow. Severus' work with young Draco has helped lead Tom into the trap we have set for him, and _everything_ he had done under the guise of serving Voldemort – not only recently, but for many years now – has been in the service of the Order, of _me_, and for the greater good of all of us."

Hermione glanced at Severus, a small smile on her face, but saw that his own face was still expressionless, his eyes staring fixedly at a spot on the worn stone floor.

There was silence for some time while the news of what had happened to Severus sank in. Many eyes were looking at him with pity – something Hermione knew he would hate if he raised his head and saw it; others were contemplating him with curious expressions, perhaps trying to guess how he was feeling behind the stoic mask.

One, Hermione noticed, was still glaring at him with utmost contempt.

"Sure he hasn't fooled you again, Dumbledore?" Moody asked loudly, standing from his place at the back of the room and pushing past the other chairs, his wooden leg clunking loudly on the stone floor.

Hermione felt Severus tense beside her, the tips of his fingers curling back into the cuff of his sleeve, where she knew his wand was stowed.

"Severus has never fooled me, Alastor," Dumbledore said calmly, though there was an undertone of warning in his voice. "It was not because of distrust that I held him under an Unbreakable Vow for almost twenty years. I am not proud to admit that Vow was made for my own selfish reasons and my desire to be in complete control, but I am pleased to say that Vow no longer holds sway over Severus; he has been released."

"Released, eh?" Moody's magical eye swung around to fix on Severus. "Convenient timing. How d'you know he hasn't crawled back to You-Know-Who since you've let him go?"

"Be reasonable, Alastor!" It was McGonagall who spoke in Severus' defence this time. "Voldemort tried to kill him!"

"Yeah, and it didn't work, did it?" Moody went on. "_That_ was convenient, too. _Nobody_ lives when Voldemort wants them dead."

"I did."

Harry's voice was quiet, and Moody eyed him keenly.

"_You're_ an exception, Potter."

"What would convince you, Moody?" Severus enquired, rising to stand face-to-face with the other man. His voice was dangerously soft. "What would convince you of my loyalties once and for all?"

"Nothing," Moody spat. "I've said it once and I'll say it again: some spots never come off. As far as I'm concerned, as long as you're marked by _him_, you're one of _his_."

"Really?" Severus said, a slow smile spreading over his face. His right hand reached for the cuff of his left sleeve, and Hermione saw Moody's eyes dart to the movement, thinking the younger man was drawing his wand. Hermione knew what Severus meant to do, though, and evidently, so did Dumbledore.

"Severus, you don't–" the Headmaster began, rising from his chair, but Severus cut him off.

"No, Albus," he said, reaching for the buttons of his left sleeve. "It seems, for one of us here–" he sneered at Moody "–your word of my loyalty is not sufficient. I ask anyone who does not believe your explanation – anyone who thinks some _spots never come off_ - to explain _this_."

Popping the last button undone, he pushed his sleeve up roughly and held his arm out, the pale skin of his inner forearm facing upwards for all to see as he turned a slow circle in the centre of the room.

Hermione noticed with satisfaction that Moody was speechless, his magical eye spinning back and forth between the unblemished skin of Severus' forearm and the stunned reactions of others in the room. The magical eye must have passed over Hermione, who had remained sitting calmly on the couch, because he suddenly rounded on her.

"And I suppose _you_ knew?" Moody snarled.

"Yes, I did," she retorted, meeting his accusing glare defiantly.

"I knew, too," Harry added quietly from where he was sitting on the opposite side of Hermione to where Severus had been.

"There are a select number of staff and students who were aware of the situation," Dumbledore interjected as Moody opened his mouth to speak again. "Harry and Hermione both contributed to saving Severus' life when he first returned, and Hermione was kind enough to take over some of the brewing Severus previously did for the school."

Glancing back at Severus, Hermione watched him pull down his sleeve and re-button the cuff; his lips were set in a tight line, and she could tell he was terribly angry with the ex-Auror.

"Hmpf," Moody snorted contemptuously. "So she's been helping Snape down there in the dungeons, eh? Hope you've been keeping an eye on 'em, Dumbledore – for _her_ sake."

A shocked murmur rippled through the room, and McGonagall rose from her chair, starting angrily forwards. The only thing that stopped Hermione from jumping out of her seat in her own defence was the briefest of glances from Severus, his eyes flashing a warning not to speak.

"I refuse to listen to this," he ground out. "Whatever you may think, Moody, it is clear others in this room do not share your opinion. It is bad enough you feel the need to continually question my loyalties after Albus' reassurances, but to question my propriety, not to mention Hermione's as well–"

"_Hermione_, is it now, eh?" Moody leered unpleasantly. "Slip of the tongue there, Snape?"

"She is a young adult witch," Severus replied through clenched teeth. "I have not been her teacher for months. Such formal addresses seem inappropriate given the time we have spent working together."

During the last exchange of words, Dumbledore had crossed the room, and now came between the two men who were facing off.

"Severus ceased to be a teacher the day Tom tried to take his life," he interjected firmly. "I will not have you making accusations of impropriety, Alastor. Both Severus and Hermione have contributed greatly to the Order through their work together, and if they have also developed a friendship, who am I to discourage it? Every one of us needs support, especially in times like these, and it is often our friends who will pull us through the darkest of times."

"I'll second that," Ron spoke up for the first time since the meeting had started. Some of the older ex-students were looking at Hermione curiously, as though they were trying to comprehend a 'friendship' with Severus. She supposed she couldn't blame them… it wasn't something she could have comprehended not so long ago, either.

"Alastor," Dumbledore said quietly, though his blue eyes were glittering with annoyance. "I must ask you to desist in these baseless accusations against Severus. I have great respect for you, as a member of the Order, an exemplary wizard and a good friend, however you are my guest in this school, and as such I expect you to extend _all_ of us within the school the same courtesy you do me. I am appalled at your inability to accept that for once, Alastor – _once_ – you have been wrong about someone. We are _all_ on the same side here, and I will not have two of my comrades at odds going into this confrontation. There can be no fear that one of us will hex another when his back is turned. Do I have your assurances you will not act foolishly?"

Moody's good eye narrowed as he stared at Dumbledore, the magical one swinging backwards, obviously to fix on Severus.

"You do," he said eventually.

Without a glance at Severus, he turned and stumped back across the room to his chair near the back. Dumbledore gave Severus an apologetic look and motioned wordlessly for him to sit down again.

He sat down beside her again, letting out a slow, deep breath, his hands clenched on his thighs. Under the pretence of rearranging her own robe, folded in her lap, Hermione brushed the side of his hand very lightly with the tip of her pinky finger. He snatched his arm away sharply, scowling, and folded his arms across his chest, instead.

Looking around to see whether anyone else had noticed the interaction, Hermione saw Moody watching her from across the room, eyes narrowed, a nasty half-smile on his face.

She looked away, turning her attention to Dumbledore as the old man sat behind his desk and surveyed the room again.

"Now, to the plan for tomorrow."

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when they finally emerged from the Headmaster's office, glad to be moving about again after the lengthy meeting. Despite the time they had spent in discussion, the plan for the following day was quite devastatingly simple. Harry would arrive at Godric's Hollow, seemingly alone, hours ahead of when Malfoy had told Voldemort his nemesis was supposed to arrive.

Using a spell the Headmaster had taught him to detect wards and concealing charms, Harry would ensure none of the enemy had arrived ahead of him in the area. A signal to the Order via a coin carrying a Protean Charm – similar to the one Hermione had used for the DA in their fifth year – would alert Dumbledore to the outcome of Harry's detection spell. If the coin became cold and silver, all was well. If, on the other hand, it became hot and glowed orange, trouble was afoot. The Headmaster would gather the Order post-haste and Portkey into Godric's Hollow immediately.

If all was well, the Order would remain at Hogwarts for a further hour before they Portkeyed in groups to the area. The Portkeys Dumbledore had created were interwoven with concealment charms, and the new arrivals would be neither seen nor heard until a spell was cast by someone in the group, breaking the concealment charm.

The element of surprise would serve them well if, as Dumbledore, Severus and Harry all assumed, Voldemort brought his Death Eaters with him to supposedly witness the downfall of his nemesis.

Other than the arrival, Dumbledore's instructions had been minimal, at best.

"Our objective," he had said, "is to survive, but also, though hopefully not contradictorily, to protect and support Harry so that he may do what is required of him."

Severus had left the meeting quickly without speaking to Hermione, perhaps not wanting to give Moody another excuse to question him, and so she made her way down the spiral staircase with Harry, Ron and the other two Weasleys.

At the base of the stairs, Harry pulled Hermione aside.

"I need to talk to you and Ron," he muttered quietly. "I'm leaving the castle this afternoon."

"What?" Hermione asked, startled. Lowering her voice, she added, "Dumbledore didn't say anything about that."

"Dumbledore doesn't know… yet," Harry replied. "I didn't want to bring it up in there, because if everyone knew I was going now, some of them would want to come with me, and I don't want that. I _appreciate_ it, but I need some time there by myself, you know?"

She nodded, a strange feeling suddenly coming over her. Was this the last time she would see Harry until they were in the thick of the battle? Her throat tightened, and she found herself unable to speak the hundred things that had suddenly come into her mind.

"I–"

Harry shook his head, silencing her attempt to speak as a small group of Order members passed them in the corridor.

"Not here," he said. "Let's go outside."

Beckoning to Ron, who threw them a curious look but then, seeing their serious expressions, left his brother and sister to join them, they went downstairs and out the main castle doors, stopping only when there were half-way across the sweeping lawns towards the Quidditch pitch. The sun was warm, the ground dry, and so they sat together, looking out across the grounds with the castle behind them.

Harry repeated his reasons for leaving tonight to Ron, who seemed as worried as Hermione had felt at first, but neither of them openly questioned his reasoning.

"So, this is it, then?" Ron asked quietly.

"For today," Harry said, a rueful smile on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow… and the day after… and the day after that."

Hermione bowed her head, not wanting either of her friends to see the doubt and worry she suddenly felt reflected on her face. She blinked rapidly, willing the tears that had formed in her eyes not to escape, but to no avail.

"Hermione?"

Harry had stood again, and as she looked up, he extended a hand to her and pulled her to her feet when she grasped it.

"None of this, Hermione," he said upon seeing her tears. "Don't want anyone back at the castle to realise what's happening. Come on, I should go up and tell Dumbledore. Hopefully he'll let me Portkey from his office, like he had planned tomorrow."

"What if he tries to stop you from going?" Ron questioned.

"He won't." Harry shook his head. "He'll understand; he'll let me go."

"Wait, Harry." Hermione couldn't help herself; she threw her arms around her friend, pulling him into a tight hug as her tears spilt over again. Sensing Ron beside her, she reached out one arm and pulled him into the embrace as well. The three of them stood together for a short moment, before Harry drew back.

"No more tears," he said, smiling at her fondly. "After tomorrow, everything will be different."

"I know, I'm sorry," she sniffed, wiping her eyes. Things would be different after tomorrow… that much she knew for sure. But her uncertainty lay in whether things would be better… or worse. Despite all the preparation, all the planning, that led to the following day, there was still the slightest, frightening possibility that they would not win. For all Hermione tried to be optimistic, for all she had tried to encourage others to share that optimism – Severus, in particular – now that the time was almost upon them, she found all her concerns returning a hundredfold.

Walking back to the castle arm-in-arm with her two friends, she was startled to see a dark figure standing on the castle steps, arms folded as he leant against the stone wall, warm in the afternoon sunlight.

"Severus? What are you doing out here?"

He looked from her face to her arms, still tightly linked with those of her friends, and raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Seeing as I am officially among the living again," he said, "I thought a change of scenery would be in order."

It suddenly occurred to Hermione that this was the first time Severus had stepped outside in almost four months. It was no wonder he was taking a moment to enjoy the last rays of sunlight that afternoon.

"Of course, I didn't–"

A tug on her arm interrupted her, and Harry and Ron stepped away from her.

"We'll see you inside in a minute, okay?" Ron said, his eyes darting briefly from Hermione to Severus.

"Okay," she echoed as they disappeared through the thick oak doors, and she turned back to Severus, looking up at his face as he looked out across the grounds.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked quietly after a moment.

"I didn't realise how much I enjoyed something so simple as being outdoors until the choice was taken from me."

She smiled and moved closer, stopping when her arm lightly brushed against his. He stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed again, even shifting slightly closer himself.

"There's a lot to be said for simple things. Sunlight, good friends… freedom… love," she added softly. "They're all simple, but who would be without them?"

"Indeed," he agreed.

"I wish I could stay out here longer," she said regretfully, "but I should go in. Harry and Ron will be waiting to… to talk."

She felt guilty not telling him of Harry's intentions to leave the castle shortly, but she kept her word to her friend and didn't speak of it. If Severus sensed anything amiss in her tone, he didn't comment, but pushed away from the stone wall and descended a couple of steps before he turned back to her.

"I think I'll enjoy the fresh air while the light lasts. I may see you later."

"You will," she said firmly, and as he continued down the steps and out into the grounds, Hermione turned and re-entered the castle, where she found Harry and Ron waiting for her.

Despite her best efforts, Hermione was unable to avoid another teary moment when they reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Luckily, there was no one else about to see it, and even Ron's voice seemed slightly thick as he said, "See you tomorrow, mate."

When Harry disappeared up the revolving staircase, Ron put his arm about Hermione shoulders and squeezed tightly.

"He'll be right, Hermione," he said. "It's not like he's going off to face Voldemort alone. We'll all be there to help by the time _he_ shows up."

Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes again and wondering when Ron had become to optimistic one; usually it was she who had to convince him when he lost interest or motivation in something.

* * *

After dinner, Hermione gave Ron's shoulder a meaningful squeeze and took a different corridor from the others, heading back to the common room.

Ron's face was understanding as he nodded; he needed to spend time with his family, and she, without family nearby and already having spent the afternoon with her friends, knew the one place she wanted to be for the remainder of this strange waiting time before the approaching conflict tomorrow.

Unlike all the times past, Hermione made for the dungeons rather than the first floor. She walked past the closed door of the Potions classroom to another door, which she had used only once before, months ago, when Severus had taken her to the Forbidden Forest for her first encounter with the moonfilly.

The door swung open a moment later, Severus looking at her in confusion.

"What are you doing here?"

Her smile faltered. "I– well, I thought– I… you…"

He rolled his eyes, taking her arm and pulling her inside.

"Not _here_," he said, exasperated, closing the door with a snap. "I mean, what are you doing at that door?"

"Oh!" She laughed. "I just thought… Oh, I don't know. It was just a novelty that I could use it, for a change."

He rolled his eyes, striding away from her. On the coffee table was an almost-empty glass of amber liquid, which he retrieved as he walked past, drained it, and set it on the cabinet across the room. Picking up the bottle beside it, he looked at her over his shoulder.

"Drink?"

Hermione shook her head, frowning, as he poured another inch into his own glass and downed it quickly. She had seen him drink very little in the past months at all; now was hardly the time to start again. They would need all their wits about them tomorrow.

As though sensing her disapproval, he stoppered the bottle and turned around to face her, arms folded almost defensively in front of him. She met his eyes, not moving further into the room, and there was silence for an indeterminate amount of time. He watched her almost uncertainly.

Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she asked, "So, what happens now?"

"Now?" he echoed, unfolding his arms and letting them drop resignedly to his sides. "Now, we wait."

And wait they did.

It was a strange evening. Neither seemed eager to speak of what was to come, yet they stayed close to one another, sitting in silence, standing by the window or pacing back and forth past one another on the hearth. More than once, Severus stopped beside his desk, toying with the handle on the top drawer. He never opened it, though, and when he saw Hermione watching him curiously, he left it alone altogether.

Many times, Hermione opened her mouth to speak and close it again without a word; words were inadequate to express what she wanted to say. She could feel his apprehension as surely as her own.

Hermione was tired; her eyes were scratchy and she couldn't stop yawning… but she was reluctant to make the first move to retire to bed. Sleeping would bring tomorrow much faster.

It was a double-edged sword, really. She wanted it to be over - they all did – but that didn't lessen the apprehension for what would happen to them tomorrow. Even when Harry did win – she forced herself to think _when_ and not _if_ – it surely would not be a fight without casualties. There was still the possibility that she, Severus or both of them, not to mention her other friends, could be hurt... or worse.

The current routine of her life had become comfortable and familiar. The world wasn't safe, but she was safe within Hogwarts. It was foolish to even wish it could stay that way, though. What sort of a life would it be hiding in the castle because Voldemort was still at large? Once defeated, they could all move on with their lives. Watching Severus' reflection as he stared out the window, lost in his own thoughts, she wondered again what those lives would encompass if they all survived unscathed?

By mutual and unspoken agreement, they finally retired to the bedroom, unwilling to sleep but needing to rest. Severus emerging from the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed as Hermione folded her clothes over the back of the armchair by the window. Crawling onto the bed, she knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

Severus leant back into her embrace with a tired sigh, and the rune pendant hanging around her neck became caught between their bodies, digging into her breastbone. On impulse, Hermione sat back, reached up and unclasped the pendant. Hooking it quickly around Severus' neck instead, she fastened the catch just as he raised his hand to the small rune-shaped object with a soft exclamation of surprise.

"Hermione, what–?" He broke off as she stayed his hands with her own, preventing his attempt to take it off.

"Please," she insisted. "I know it's only a shape – that it doesn't mean anything – but I'll feel better knowing that you have it with you, nonetheless."

"And what about you?" he countered, turning to face her and raising his hand to trace the bare skin over breastbone where the necklace has rested. "_I_ would feel better knowing you're wearing it."

"It's just a shape," she said, shaking her head. "And if it does mean anything, you'll need its protection more than I… _please_, Severus."

He stared at her, eyes roiling with emotions that she knew, like her own, were too powerful to articulate. Seeing them in his face was enough, and she knew he could see the same fear, tenderness and yearning in her own eyes.

"Oh, Hermione." His embrace was fierce, his voice rough, as he shifted back on the bed and pulled her down with him, holding her close and drawing the duvet up around them. There was nothing carnal about the closeness of their embrace tonight, but rather a simple desire to be together that went beyond lust and sexual need. Hermione clung to him tightly as the silence fell around them again, and despite her efforts to remain awake, to make the moment last as long as possible, she eventually drifted off into sleep.

When they woke up, tomorrow would be there.

* * *

Monday morning saw Hermione reluctantly emerge from Severus' bathroom when he was already dressed in his full robes and sitting at his desk. Actually getting out of bed had been the most difficult chore of the morning, stemming from a ridiculous notion that, if she didn't emerge from beneath the covers, the day wouldn't progress without her. It was childish, she knew, and eventually common sense got the better of her and she realised the time before they left for Godric's Hollow would be better spent with Severus and, later, her other friends as well.

Fastening the last button on her own robes – Muggle clothing may have been more appropriate, but somehow it didn't feel right – Hermione joined Severus in the sitting room. The top drawer of his desk was open, and he was examining something in his hands, oblivious to her presence until she scuffed her shoe on the stone floor while crossing to join him.

He started slightly, clasping his hand over whatever it was he held, and she threw him a curious look.

"What are you doing?"

He hesitated, but then shook his head and stood up, closing the drawer and shoving whatever he had been holding into his pocket as he stepped away from her and across the room.

"Not long now," he muttered, glancing at the clock over the mantle.

He seemed apprehensive… more so than the previous night. She wondered if, after all this time spent in relative solitude, he was apprehensive about being out amongst such a large crowd. But he rebuked that idea when she voiced it.

"No, it's not that," he said, not pausing as he paced back and forth.

Hermione followed his movement, her worry increasing at his seeming reluctance to meet her eyes.

"What is it, then?" she finally asked. He paced the length of the room once more before detouring from his path and coming to stand before her.

"I-" he began, then faltered and closed his eyes for moment. He appeared to set his jaw as he pulled his hand from his pocket again and held it up, allowing the object he had been holding to slip from his palm.

Hermione stared at the silver chain dangling from his fingers… and the shiny silver ring hanging on the chain. Her breath caught in her throat, and she tore her eyes from the ring to meet his. It couldn't be…

"It's not what you're thinking," he said quickly. Her face must have shown the mortification she suddenly felt at making such an assumption, because he added, "Not yet…"

"Wha- whe- whose is it?" She stumbled over her words, still staring at the ring, which was swinging slightly on the long chain. It was etched with a swirling Celtic design, centred around a single inlaid stone, pale blue and glinting in the light.

"Mine," he said. "Mine to give, at least. It belonged to my maternal grandmother some time ago, and was passed on to my mother, and then, since I have no sisters, to me… and now to you, if you will wear it."

Hermione had raised her hand to touch it, but she withdrew uncertainly.

"I can't," she said. "Not today. It's a family heirloom, Severus! What if I lose it? What if-"

Severus silenced her by placing his fingers gently over her lips. She stilled, watching as he withdrew his hand, unclasped the catch of the necklace and held it up, motioning for her to turn around.

She opened her mouth to protest again, but he simply shook his head, not to be deterred. With a sigh, she turned her back to him, and a moment later he stepped close behind her and draped the chain around her neck. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he fastened the clasp, and she felt a shiver run down her spine at the touch.

Both hands moved to rest on her shoulders, and she felt his breath as he bowed his head to speak in her ear.

"Perhaps one day," he whispered softly, "you might consider wearing it as it should be worn."

She gasped as she spun back to face him, her eyes widening as the full implication of his words sank in. His own eyes, locked with hers, were glimmering with a strange mixture of anticipation, hope and an underlying fear… of what, she was uncertain.

"No consideration needed," Hermione said softly. "I'd accept in a heartbeat."

Severus smiled, but then his face became serious again as he cautioned, "It's a suggestion… a hope, if you will. Not a promise… not yet. I will not make a promise until I am certain I will be able to keep it."

His meaning was clear… _I will not make a promise until I have survived this day…_ and Hermione swallowed thickly.

"I just want this day to be over," she whispered, stepping forwards into his embrace.

"And soon it shall," he murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head as he held her.

He drew away after a few minutes.

"We should go and meet the others. It wouldn't do to be late." As he spoke, he reached for the ring and tucked it down the neck of her robes, the cool metal like a droplet of ice against her skin.

"Less questions," he said by way of explanation, and she nodded in agreement, albeit a bit sadly.

* * *

The air when they gathered with the rest of the Order in the Entrance Hall was thick with anticipation and an underlying sense of fear. Everyone was standing in small groups, talking quietly, or alone at the fringes of the hall, lost in their own thoughts. Hermione was glad to see Ron and Charlie near McGonagall, whom Severus went to speak to immediately. Joining her friends, she was able to linger close to Severus without the suspicious glare of Moody fixed continuously on them.

After a short time, when the crowd in the Hall had grown to quite a size, Dumbledore ascended a few steps up the main staircase and turned to address the group.

"I thank you all for being here, for the commitment you have made to your comrades and the greater wizarding world as well," he said, his voice echoing in the high-domed Hall. "There are many words I could say at this time, but all seem inadequate… all but this: If we believe we are right, if we believe we can win… so we shall. It matters not if their number is greater, their Dark spells more terrible, for we fight as one, as a team, and that makes our strength very great indeed. Trust. Love. The desire to live freely and as equals. Those are our strengths, and they will see us prevail."

The silence was absolute until someone behind Hermione began to clap. Heartened by the simple speech, others joined in, Hermione, Ron and even Severus among them, until the sound of applause was deafening. It was halted as suddenly as it had begun, though, when Dumbledore suddenly shouted, "Silence!"

He held up one hand, and with a jolt of cold dread in her stomach, Hermione saw the charmed coin glowing orange in his palm. Voldemort had arrived; the battle had begun.

Quickly moving forward, wands drawn, groups of eight or ten witches and wizards at a time grasped the Portkeys Dumbledore produced, vanishing as they were taken to join the fight. When Hermione grasped the old, broken pot that was to be the next Portkey, she heard Ron mutter in her ear, "Good luck, Hermione."

"You, too," she echoed, glancing at the other hands holding the pot. Severus' wasn't there, and she twisted around to see him with the last group a few metres away, crowding around a rubber tyre. Their eyes met for an instant, but then Hermione felt a sharp tug and was whisked away in a whirl of colour.

They landed in a heap, falling on soft grass in the middle of a large field. It seemed deserted, but Hermione remembered the charm concealing them would not be broken until a spell was cast within the group.

"There!" someone shouted nearby as Hermione struggled to her feet, grasping her wand tightly.

Hermione spun around to see a dozen black-robed, masked figures advancing on them slowly across the open field they had appeared in… but how was that possible? Weren't they invisible? Turning in another direction, Hermione saw their real target – Harry was standing a short distance away, in the centre of the field, arms at his sides, wand in hand. Behind him, a second group of Death Eaters was closing in, and a third, larger group was emerging from within the trees at one end of the field. Overhead, even in daylight, the Dark Mark, writhing and twisting grotesquely in the sky, cast a sickly, green glow across the landscape.

"Wands ready!" someone else shouted. "Concealment charm is coming off in three… two… one… now!"

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Appearing in the field with the last group, Severus quickly took in his surroundings, seeing Potter in the centre of the field and assuming the other invisible groups of Order members were close by. He felt a hand close tightly around his arm, just above his elbow, and turned his head sharply to see Moody beside him.

"Just remember which side you're on," the older man growled, before releasing him and disappearing through the group.

Shaking his head, Snape set his jaw and turned to face the group of Death Eaters that had appeared from the nearby line of trees. Robed and masked they were, but Snape instantly recognised the figures of both Malfoys amongst the group, as well as the bulky figures of two other ex-students.

Before he could make out who any of the others were, though, there was a shout across the field, and a group of Order members suddenly materialised. Death Eaters at the other end of the field began throwing curses at the group immediately, and Snape realised _his_ group would be caught in the crossfire if they didn't show themselves. Others evidently came to the same conclusion, because the air was suddenly filled with bolt of light, rushing past him and hurtling towards the unprepared Death Eaters.

Some went down immediately, and a few staggered but regained their footing. Then, the spells started coming back, and as the Order spread out across the field, it was every witch and wizard for themselves.

Without hood or mask, Snape realised he had a distinct advantage over the first few Death Eaters who turned their wands in his direction. So shocked were they by his presence, that time and again he was able to cut them down without having to deflect an incoming spell at all. When one such opponent shouted his name aloud, though, his advantage was lost; the word spread like wildfire that the traitor was still alive, and he found himself cornered by two or three Death Eaters at a time.

The fighting was fierce; all across the field, people on both sides were falling and not getting up. In an effort by the Order to draw the focus away from Harry, the battle was spreading into the trees, and down through the lower end of the field, where a toppled stone or pillar still marked what remained of the house which had once stood in Godric's Hollow.

Snape remained at the other end of the field, though, fighting Death Eater after Death Eater as they all sought to kill the traitor who had caused their leader so much trouble and, assumedly, led them all into this trap today. Curse after curse, hex after hex, he fought them off, immobilising the weaker ones and killing when other options ran dry. He didn't have the energy to maintain a shielding charm around himself, and even if he had, some of the unrecognisable Dark curses would have broken through anyway.

The day wore on, and the sun, high and hot in the sky, fell behind a bank of clouds. The crowd of witches and wizards spread out across the field was noticeably thinner, unmoving figures at random intervals across the ground. A badly aimed curse grazed Snape's leg, tearing his robes and trousers and drawing blood just above his knee, and he spun around, disposing of the offending Death Eater before the other wizard could voice another curse.

Snape's whole body was aching from physical exertion, and stinging where hexes or curses had hit their mark. Thankfully, he'd so far been able to deflect the nastiest ones. A slicing hex above his right eye was dripping blood down his face, impairing his vision, but he swiped it aside with the back of his hand. If that was his worst injury, he was one of the lucky ones.

Some distance away, he could see Potter and Voldemort circling one another, throwing spells but not outright duelling yet. It made sense; Voldemort liked to play with his victims before he killed them, and the Order was counting on using that to their advantage, taking out as many Death Eaters as possible first so Potter could concentrate solely on Voldemort.

Hermione, too, was visible across the field, locked in a vicious exchange of curses with a heavyset figure Snape instantly recognised as his ex-student, Goyle. He watched in horror as the Slytherin sent Hermione off-balance with a spell, and then ignored his wand to grab her and throw her bodily to the ground. Snape's heart leapt into his throat as the Death Eater raised his wand again, but a bolt of red light hit the looming figure, who crumpled to the ground beside Hermione.

Snape took a breath as Draco, hood lowered and mask nowhere to be seen, pulled her to her feet. Glancing across the field in Snape's direction, though, Draco left Hermione and suddenly started forwards, raising his wand again, and Snape spun around just in time to deflect a vicious Entrail-Expelling Curse from Lucius Malfoy's wand. The blonde emerged from the trees; like his son, he wore no mask, only a superior, sadistic smile on his pale face.

"There was a rumour amongst the others," he drawled, "that a certain traitor was still alive. Naturally, I had to see for myself if it were true."

"It's true, my old _friend_," Snape spat, casting a volley of non-verbal spells at the older man. Malfoy deflected them, returning a vicious curse of his own, one which Snape knew no counter for other than to fling himself out of its path.

He was still climbing to his feet when the next hex hit, and he staggered, but still managed to fire off a slicing hex, catching the blonde across the top of his leg.

"Bastard!" Malfoy spat, going down momentarily onto one knee. Foolishly, Snape hesitated with the spell that was on the tip of his tongue, and Malfoy spat another curse at him, using the distraction to regain his footing and stem the blood flowing from his leg.

The curse struck Severus' right elbow, and he hit the ground hard, stabbing pain shooting up his arm as the bone shattered. He staggered to his feet, the world spinning, and he suddenly became aware that Draco was nearby, yelling at his father to stop.

"Stop?" Lucius laughed. "Stop? Whatever for? This piece of vermin has betrayed us, Draco, and everything we stand for!"

"Everything you stand for, Father," Draco said, raising his wand and aiming it steadily at his father. "I stand with Severus."

Lucius paled, his eyes darting from his son to Severus, who tried to raise his own wand, but, finding his right arm useless, transferred it to his left.

"Don't look so surprised, Lucius," Snape sneered. "I gave your son a choice where he previously had none. I taught him to think for himself, something you never allowed him to do. I showed him reason where all you spouted was old-fashioned, pretentious lies. Is it any wonder he has turned against you?"

"You dare!" Lucius screamed, his pale eyes flashing manically. Looking to Draco, whose wand, Snape noticed, was trembling slightly as his resolve in the face of his father's fury faltered. "I'll deal with you in a minute, you pathetic excuse for a Malfoy!"

With that, he spun around to face Snape again, his lips already forming the words to a curse. Snape raised his arm, and a spell exploded from the tip of his wand an instant after Lucius', but there was no blocking the Death Eater's curse.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

There was a rush of air followed by a searing pain in his chest, and as the world exploded in a brilliant flash of green and he was flung bodily backwards, he thought he recognised the voice ringing out in a horrified scream somewhere across the field.

Then… nothing.

* * *

"_No!_"

Hermione's scream echoed across the field, and she barely managed to throw herself aside in time to avoid the slicing hex a masked figure had thrown at her. Ever since the trio of Severus, Draco and Lucius had caught her eye across the field, her attention had been divided between them and the Death Eater before her. Everything seemed to slow down as she saw the bolt of green light explode from Lucius' wand and hit Severus square in the chest. She hardly realised it was herself she could hear screaming, and it was only her instinct to duck which saved her from being hit with another hex. The next hex did hit her, though, and she felt a searing pain across her shoulder as the jet of magic cut deeply into her skin.

"_Stupefy!_" she screamed, flinging her injured arm out towards the Death Eater, who was already mouthing another spell. He went down under the bolt of red light, though, and Hermione staggered to her feet again, turning in Severus direction with a terrified sob. If she could just get to him…

She could see him, lying motionless on the rise where the field met the trees, Draco and his father duelling a short distance away. Instantly, a vision of her Boggart flashed before her eyes again, mirroring the way Severus was sprawled out on the grass with terrifying similarity. Surely there were spells other than the Killing Curse that formed a green bolt of magic… Surely he wasn't… he couldn't be… If only he would just _move_.

Another flash of green caught the edge of her vision, and she turned to see Harry locked in a fierce duel with Voldemort. Torn between helping Harry and running to Severus' aid, she realised there was nothing she could do for Severus… but perhaps she could help Harry.

Setting off at a run, she saw Dumbledore on his knees, surrounded by Charlie Weasley, Tonks and another wizard she didn't recognise, all of whom were deflecting curses being aimed at the old wizard from every direction.

She reached Harry's side at the same time Ron appeared from the other direction, his red hair stained crimson with blood. Whether it was his or someone else's, Hermione didn't know. Harry staggered, and Voldemort gave a shout of triumph, raising his wand to cast another spell. In unison, Hermione and Ron both shouted the same shielding spell, the magical buffer shuddering as it absorbed the power of Voldemort's curse.

The red-eyed wizard laughed wildly as Harry climbed to his feet, adding his own power to the shield as well.

"Need your friends to help you, Harry?" he yelled. "How noble… pity they'll all end up _dead_."

"Not a chance, Voldemort!" Harry shouted back, gripping his wand with both hands. Hermione could feel her own wand vibrating every time one of Voldemort's curses hit their shield. It was holding, for now, but she was shaking with exhaustion, and she knew Harry and Ron were no better off.

"The traitor is dead," Voldemort taunted, "that old fool Dumbledore has been brought to his knees, and your red-haired contingent is sorely lacking."

Ron, struggling to hold the shielding spell, made a strangled sound, and the pure anger radiating from Harry increased exponentially.

"Now all I have left is to rid myself of you."

Hermione let out a sob, black spots dancing in front of her eyes. If she could just hold on a bit longer… if Harry was just strong enough to finish this.

"I'm going to kill you now, Harry," Voldemort said, his voice suddenly soft and deadly. "I'm going to kill you like I killed your father, and your filthy Mudblood mother."

Harry let out a howl of rage and defiance, but at the same moment and the shielding spell between the trio and their enemy finally failed.

Voldemort laughed, a high and spine-chilling sound, and said, "See, even your friends fail you now."

His hesitation, his need to taunt them, though, was his mistake... his fatal mistake. Hermione saw Dumbledore on his knees, other Order members still duelling fiercely with Death Eaters, refusing to give up, and Severus, still lying motionless at the far end of the field. Suddenly, with a rush of pure adrenalin, she knew what had to be done.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Harry screamed, and his voice rose to meet those of his two best friends, shouting the same words with every last drop of hatred they could muster.

Green jets of light shot from the three wands, and halfway to their destination, their paths collided. Instead of ricocheting, they combining to form one blinding green surge of magic, which hurtled towards Voldemort and struck him square in the chest.

There was a deafening _crack_, louder than a thunderbolt, and a magical explosion of blinding green, which knocked everyone within a fifty foot radius off their feet.

When Hermione raised her head from where she'd been flung flat on her back, she saw Ron climbing to his feet as well, and Harry, just a few paces away, on his knees.

"Harry," she called, her voice breaking as she got painfully to her feet and staggered towards him. He stared up at her dazedly, then his gaze shifted past her to where Voldemort had stood.

"We did it, H'mione," he said, his voice high and shocked.

She turned and followed his gaze to where the man once known as Tom Riddle lay dead on the ground, a torn sleeve exposing his outflung arm and the blackened Dark Mark with which he branded all his followers.

All across the field, cries of jubilation were ringing out as the Order realised Voldemort was dead, the battle won. Ron collapsed to his knees on the other side of Harry, his face pale.

"Is he dead? Are you sure?" he choked out.

With the help of Hermione and Ron, Harry stood shakily and closed the space between his nemesis, staring down at the wide-eyed, surprised expression. The Dark Mark turned from black to grey, the smooth skin cracking and splitting open where it followed the curve of the serpent's body. Blood began to ooze from the wound, and as they watched, horrified, there was a hissing sound, accompanied by the smell of burning flesh, and the blood seemed to dry and lose its colour. The wound down the middle of the Dark Mark became clogged with it; looking up at Voldemort's neck, where another previously bleeding wound now looked the same, Hermione was overcome with a wave of nausea as she realised Voldemort's blood had turned to the ash-like powder in his veins.

"He's dead," Harry gasped out faintly, falling to his knees again. He was exhausted… but alive. They were alive.

With that thought, Hermione's joy turned to fear, her mind drawn to one person. Turning from the dead tyrant and her two friends, a feeling of terror overwhelmed her, and despite her exhaustion, she began to run. She could see him in the distance, lying where he had fallen... if she could just reach him before... surely he was only injured or Stunned.

"Severus!" she cried, her voice rising to a crescendo as she drew nearer, uncaring of who saw or heard her.

Her breath was coming in pained gasps by the time she reached him, and she screamed his name as she threw herself down beside him.

"_Severus!_"

* * *

To be continued… 


	45. Aftermath

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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* * *

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**Chapter 45**_  
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"_Severus!_"

Hermione screamed his name again, shaking his shoulders roughly. He didn't respond, and she moved one hand to his face, cupping his cheek. It was warm beneath her palm, bloodstained and dirty, but his eyes were closed… why wasn't he answering her?

"Severus, please," she sobbed, shaking him again.

He coughed.

She froze and pulled her hand away, thinking in her hysteria she had imagined it. But no, he coughed again and rolled onto his side, away from her, with a harsh groan.

"Oh, thank God," she gasped, tears of relief spilling down her cheeks.

He tried to get up, taking harsh gasps of air as he struggled to get breath into his lungs again. Another bout of coughing overcame him, and then he was on his hands and knees, retching and vomiting in the long grass.

Hermione braced her hands on his shoulders, supporting him; she could feel his whole body shaking beneath her touch, and there was a faint smell of burning flesh in the air. Turning over and collapsing on the ground again, his face twisted in a grimace of pain, and one hand began to claw at the front of his robes.

"Get it- get it off- off me," he gasped.

"What is it? What's wrong?" His nails scratched her hands as she shoved his robe aside and fought with the buttons on his shirt. Both robe and shirt bore a small burn mark where the last curse had hit him, and Hermione's eyes widened in confusion as she finally freed the topmost buttons and pushed the soft fabric aside.

The rune pendant she had given him to wear the previous night was nothing more than a grotesque lump of melted metal, clinging to his skin, which was an angry, blistered red around it. Hermione reached for it, and then pulled back sharply as the scalding metal burned the tips of her fingers.

"Hurts," Severus gasped, this time clawing at the chain, coughing as he struggled to regain his breath.

Reaching for the chain herself, Hermione found the catch and unclasped it, trying as gently as she could to pull the hot metal away from his skin. Severus hissed as it finally pulled free, the skin beneath blistered, red and bleeding. She reached out a hand tentatively to touch it, but he stopped her before her fingers brushed his skin.

"No. It's all right."

His voice was still pained, and he lay back fully, resting his head on the ground, still clasping her right hand in his left one and breathing heavily. Now that she was able to look at Severus more closely, Hermione noticed his right arm appeared to be lying at a strange angle on the opposite side of him to where she knelt, and a deep gash across his forehead was bleeding profusely, the bright red stain against his pale skin soaking his hair and running down into his eye.

But none of that mattered. He was alive.

"What _was_ that curse?" Hermione could still feel him shaking, and she grasped his arm as he struggled to sit up again.

"Killing Curse." As he spoke, he let go of her hand and he pressed his palm to his chest, covering the small wound. He let out a slow, measured breath.

"Impossible," she whispered. "How…?"

He shook his head wordlessly, eyes drifting to the chain that still hung from her fingers. She held it up, and they both stared at the ruined lump of metal. A Muggle necklace in the shape of the rune of protection shield someone from the Killing Curse? It was inconceivable… impossible.

But there he sat. Alive.

A loud shout from across the field startled them, and Severus looked around, only now realising that they were sitting in the midst of a battlefield. When his eyes fell upon Harry, standing over the body of Tom Riddle, Severus simply stared, as though he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Across the field, the Death Eaters who remained standing had ceased their duelling and were also staring towards where Voldemort had fallen; many were clutching their left forearms, and Hermione wondered if the pain of Voldemort's death was echoing in the Mark he had branded on all his servants. On the eastern flank of the field, dozens of the cloaked figures were fleeing into the trees.

"Is it done?" Severus asked faintly. His eyes had taken on a glassy appearance, and he seemed almost to sway where he sat. "Is he dead?"

"Yes." Hermione felt a smile break out onto her face, but her eyes misted over with tears at the same time, and her voice, though confident, was unsteady. "Harry did it. We did it. We _all_ did it."

Severus let out a sob of mixed exhaustion and relief, passing his hand over his eyes and inadvertently smearing blood further down his face. Looking at her again, his eyes drifted to the tear in her robes and the dark stain of blood across her shoulder.

"Are _you_ all right?" he asked softly.

She nodded; her shoulder was stinging, now that his scrutiny had drawn attention back to the injury, but she tried to ignore it. It didn't matter; they were both there… alive… largely unharmed… nothing could dampen her elation, and on impulse, uncaring of who might see, she leant forwards and embraced him as tightly yet carefully as she could.

His good arm rested briefly on her back as he let out a shaky sigh, but then a loud _bang_ jolted them from their momentary embrace. Hermione spun around, fumbling for her wand, which she had foolishly dropped in the grass upon first reaching Severus' side. By the time she had it in her hand and was on her feet, she realised the noise had come from the far end of the field.

Squinting into the haze of dust and smoke that hung above the ground, Hermione saw a large group of witches and wizards had appeared down in the hollow where the house had once stood. Even from such a distance, she could make out the white stars on the shoulders of some of the wizards' robes – Ministry Hit Wizards – and assumed the rest of the crowd were other Ministry officials.

Another noise rang out across the field – a high-pitched cry of anguish – and this time, it was nearby. As Severus climbed unsteadily to his feet, Hermione turned to see the source of the noise. A Death Eater, still masked and robed, was moving quickly towards them, staggering drunkenly across the uneven ground. Hermione felt Severus close behind her as the threat drew nearer, but as she watched, neither moving to attack nor defend herself, she realised the masked figure wasn't as much of a threat as they might have appeared.

The man – she thought it was a man, though she couldn't be entirely sure – collapsed to his knees a few feet in front of her; wandless, he clawed at his left sleeve as another scream of agony ripped from his throat. When the heavy, black material ripped and fell aside, Hermione saw the Death Eater's Dark Mark, black and burning into his skin. As she watched in horror, the Mark split down the centre, just as Voldemort's had, and the immediate flow of blood turned quickly to the same grey ash.

The man lurched forwards, catching the bottom of her robe, his eyes within the mask smarting with tears of agony as he hoarsely pleaded, "Help me."

Hermione stumbled as Severus pulled her back, almost falling into him, and the Death Eater collapsed on the ground again, beginning to cough. The coughs quickly turned to harsh, hacking gasps, and then he was retching, the choking ash spewing from his mouth with a mixture of vomit and saliva as the stench of burning flesh filled the air once more. His struggles to breath became more feeble, the ash still spilling from his mouth as he drew one final, rattling wheeze… and then he lay still.

Hermione turned away, sickened, but was suddenly shoved sideways as Severus lurched at her, knocking her down in the grass. There was a whizzing sound as a spell shot over them, and then they were both scrambling to their feet, Hermione raising her wand to find herself face-to-face with Lucius Malfoy.

"Well, well… Granger," Malfoy spat, his wand pointedly steadily at both of them. "I told you I would have my way when we met again, and if my old friend here would just die, so I shall."

Hermione could feel Severus tense beside her, ready to shove her out of the way again or leap from the path of a curse himself. His own wand was a few feet away in the grass, useless, and Hermione knew she was neither powerful nor strong enough to disarm the Death Eater.

"It's over, Lucius," Snape said, his voice falsely calm. "Voldemort is dead."

"He cannot die!" the blonde man proclaimed, his eyes darting wildly between the two of them. "He will return, and you will rue the day you betrayed him, Snape! Wh–"

As they stood locked in the stalemate, a faint look of irritation suddenly crossed Malfoy's face. A moment later, he let out a harsh gasp and dropped his wand, clutching his left forearm spasmodically with his right hand.

"What is this?" His wide, accusing eyes met Hermione's, as though she was somehow responsible for his pain.

A moment later, he fell to his knees, his face contorting in agony as he gasped, "No, it's not– he can't be–"

"He is, Lucius."

Severus' voice was cold as he stepped closer to the other man. Lucius looked up at him, hatred flaring even through the mask of pain.

"Voldemort is dead," he said, and as Lucius began to cough, bracing himself on his hands and knees, Severus leant close to the blonde's ear and continued maliciously, "and soon, you shall join him."

Lucius let out a choking gasp, tearing his sleeve aside and pressing the palm of his right hand to the Dark Mark in a vain attempt to stop the spreading of the curse. It was a futile gesture, though, and in minutes he, too, was choking on what had once been his own blood.

Looking around, Hermione saw many of the masked, cloaked figures across the field were already on their knees.

"Help me."

Her attention was drawn back to the two men before her as Lucius reached out to grasp the hem of Severus' robes, his pleading tone a stark contrast to the hatred that had been dripping from his words only minutes before.

Severus stared down at the Lucius, his face unreadable. For a moment, Hermione thought he was going to kick the other man, but then he simply stepped back, pulling his robes from the desperate grasp, and turned away.

This time, though, Hermione found _she_ couldn't look away. She watched with a mixture of horror and triumph as the man coughed and choked, clumps of ash spewing from his mouth as he retched, until he finally succumbed, collapsing in the grass, his robes and hair askew about his body.

The cries across the field, which had not long before risen in a cacophony of echoes, were suddenly diminishing, the writhing bodies becoming still and silent. The stench of burning flesh was overpowering, and the wind was stirring the ash and dust into a swirling cloud. Hermione forced down the bile rising suddenly in her throat.

Severus was standing a short distance from her, facing away from the scene. He seemed to be looking for something… or someone. Searching around in the grass for a moment, Hermione spotted his wand, retrieved it, and stepped around in front of him, pressing the length of wood into the hand of his good arm. He hardly seemed to notice the action, his forehead creased with worry and his eyes scanning the tree line some distance away.

"Severus, what is it?" she asked.

His eyes suddenly widened, a single word left hanging in his wake as he lurched forwards on a sudden burst of adrenalin.

"Draco."

Hermione spun around to see the young Malfoy emerging from the edge of the trees, stumbling aimlessly out onto the field, his left arm clutched tightly in an action that sent cold dread through the pit of Hermione's stomach.

Hesitating for only a bare moment, she took off after Severus. In the confusion of Voldemort's death and thinking Severus, too, had died, Hermione hadn't spared a thought for Draco. Even when his father had died before her eyes, and all those bearing the Mark were succumbing to the same fate, she hadn't remembered.

It was some distance to where Draco has appeared, and Hermione caught up with Severus quickly, his initial bout of energy short-lived; his breath was coming in uneven gasps, his injured right arm clasped tightly to his chest with his left.

"Slow down," she said, struggling to catch her own breath as she grasped his arm and they moved together, Severus leaning on her more heavily with every few steps. "We'll get there. We'll help him."

Even as she spoke, she wondered whether there was anything they could do. Severus didn't respond, but the urgency of his movement spoke volumes; it was only desperate need to reach Draco that was keeping him on his feet.

Then, with both of them only a few steps away, the Slytherin collapsed to his knees.

Severus dropped down beside Draco, catching him as he pitched forward, off-balance and blinded by pain. The blonde let out a strangled cry and tried to pull away, not realising who was beside him.

"Draco," Severus said, his voice hoarse and urgent as he steadied the younger man.

"Severus, am I dead?" Draco's voice was barely a whimper when he finally stopped struggling, staring up at the older man with a confused, panic-stricken look on his pale face. His robes were stained and torn, a deep cut down the side of his neck oozing a steady flow of bright-red blood.

"No." Severus' voice was quiet and reassuring this time, though he was still fighting to catch his own breath, but when he turned to see where Hermione was, the look in his eyes was one of despair, only confirming what she already feared. Despite that, Hermione remained a few paces back; something was stopping her from joining Severus at Draco's side… something she couldn't explain.

"But I saw– I saw _him_ kill yo–" His words broke off in a sharp gasp of pain, and Hermione saw his knuckles whiten as the hand clenching his other forearm tightened.

"That's doesn't matter now," Severus said. "Voldemort is gone. It's done, it's over, and–"

He broke off as Draco pulled away from him and vomited on the ground, coughing up bile and blood. The Dark Mark on his forearm, which Hermione could now see clearly, was as black as his father's had been, and as he let out a howl of pain, it split open along the body of the serpent.

"What is this?" he cried, his voice taking on a wheezing quality as he began coughing again. "Severus? Help me!"

Jolted into action, Severus climbed painfully to his feet again, glancing down the far end of the field. "The Ministry are here; they'll have Healers," he said, looking down at the young man again. "They must have."

"Severus." Hermione stepped up to him, resting her hand on his arm. "You can't, it's…"

She couldn't bring herself to say it was no use, though, and desperation in Severus' eyes simply said, _I have to try_. She could do nothing more than nod.

Somehow, he managed to hoist the young man up into his arms, and they set out unsteadily across the field, Hermione grasping Severus' good arm and supporting him as well as she could as they picked their way through the scattered bodies. Draco began coughing again, his head propped against Severus' shoulder, and the older man stumbled forward, somehow managing to increase his pace.

Beside him, Hermione's worry increased, not only for Draco, but for Severus, too. Not ten minutes before, he'd barely survived a curse – a curse that should have killed him. He couldn't possibly have recovered so quickly.

By the time they were halfway, some of the Order members at the far end had recognised them and were heading in their direction. Hermione wanted to shout for them to bring a Healer, but it was all she could do to keep breathing herself. Severus was running, now – how, she didn't know – his breath was hitching on every intake, and twice, he stumbled, almost falling with the burden in his arms.

The cloud of grey ash drifting on the wind became thicker the further they descended down towards Godric's Hollow, choking them as they gasped for breath. Draco's head suddenly dropped back, lolling unnaturally as his mouth opened and closed, futilely trying to draw breath past the choking ash that was overwhelming his body.

"Severus, stop!" Hermione cried. The group of wizards running towards them was still a way off; even if they could do anything, it would be too late.

He ignored her at first, but then he stumbled, this time unable to stop himself from falling completely. A harsh cry fell from his lips as, trying to protect Draco from the fall, he twisted sideways and landed on his injured arm. Hermione dropped to her knees beside them as Severus struggled to sit up with Draco lying across his lap. The younger man drew in a harsh, rattling breath and tried to speak.

"Sev'us, m'sorry," he wheezed.

"You've nothing to be sorry for, Draco," Severus said, and it was only because Hermione knew his voice so well that she could detect the slightest tremor as he spoke. "You'll be all right. Just…"

He trailed off as the younger man shook his head, a spasm of pain gripping him.

"Tried. Should've listened… come to you before…"

Every word was fainter than the one before, every breath weaker. The wound on Draco's neck had stopped bleeding, but it was clogged with ash, as was his forearm, the Dark Mark barely visible around the gaping split. His skin was far paler than usual, his eyes bloodshot and full of fear.

"No," Severus said again. "You've done so well, Draco. I'm so proud of you." He raised his hand to brush the younger man's hair back from his face, and it was a gesture so tender that Hermione couldn't stop the tears that began spilling down her cheeks.

Draco's eyes drifted to Hermione's for a moment, but he didn't speak, and she wondered if he was even seeing her… or something, somewhere, far beyond. She didn't dare say a word…

The next breath he drew hitched in his throat, a single tear slipping from one eye to cut a trail down his ash-covered face. Draco's features contorted for a moment in a final grimace of pain, and then his eyes drifted closed as his head fell back to rest in the crook of Severus' arm.

Hermione hardly dared to breathe herself, and after a moment of absolute silence, Severus' hand drifted from the younger man's forehead to his cheek, catching the tear on the pad of his thumb as it trickled down the past Draco's jaw.

"Draco?"

The single, quietly spoken word echoed was filled incalculable sorrow and desperation, and Hermione could do nothing but kneel beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder in a futile offer of support. Footsteps caused her to look up, and she realised half a dozen Order members and a single Healer in distinctive lime-green robes were gathering around them. Tonks' bright blue hair stood out amongst the group, and Hermione met the Auror's eyes, shaking her head.

Understanding flashed in Tonks' eyes, and she silently drew the others back.

"Severus?"

Hermione's voice was soft, but he ignored her. Instead, saying the younger man's name again, quietly, pleadingly, Severus shook him gently.

"Severus, please," she implored. "There's nothing you can do."

"No, I–" His voice was thick with grief as he shook Draco's lifeless form again. Pulling the body more firmly against him, he struggled to his feet. Hampered by his own weakness and the burden of the dead weight in his arms, though, he barely managed to stand. "If I can just…"

But there was nothing he could do, not for Draco. Hermione stopped him from moving, one hand clasped on his shoulder and the other turning his chin so he was forced to meet her eyes. There was a flash of light from somewhere nearby, but she ignored it, her gaze fixed on his, willing him to see reason for his sake as much as anyone else's.

"Severus, please, you have to stop," she begged, her voice breaking. "He's… he's gone."

He stared at her, his dark eyes filled with warring emotions… refusal to believe it was true, and the knowledge that it was. After what seemed like an eternity, with a single nod, he gave in. Sinking back down into the grass and bowing his head over the body in his arms, Severus finally broke down and wept.

Standing beside him, the sense of helplessness that rose within Hermione was overwhelming, and she had to turn away. The elation of Voldemort's defeat was still there, lingering somewhere in the background, but it had been surpassed by the loss of the young man she had honestly come to consider a friend. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of such a waste of life. In turning away, she was faced with yet more bodies, littered across the field. Some of them, like Lucius Malfoy, in her opinion, thoroughly deserved the end they had met… but were there others who had simply made the wrong choice, or never had a choice, like Draco?

It was a stark realisation that had Voldemort not tried to kill Severus so many months ago, he would still have borne the Mark today, and therefore shared the same fate as the younger man now lying dead in his arms.

"Hermione?"

The voice nearby drew her back from her inattention, and she turned her head to see Ron at her side, his freckled face pale, yet dirty with the ash that seemed to be covering everything.

"Are you… okay? I mean, not hurt?" he amended, and she was grateful for that. Despite having accomplished what they had come here to do today, Hermione knew it would be a long time before any of them were really and truly okay.

"I'm alive," she managed, the ghost of a tired smile crossing her lips. As she spoke, a sudden wave of dizziness came over her, and she swayed on her feet, momentarily reaching for Ron to steady herself.

A flash of light distracted Hermione, hurting her eyes in its brilliance, and they both blinked, trying to see where it had come from. Some distance away, a tall, weedy-looking man was holding a large camera which emitted the bright flash and a puff of orange smoke each time it went off.

"What the bloody hell is the _Prophet_ doing here?" Ron began angrily. "No bloody dignity…"

Tonks, a short distance away, noticed the photographer at the same time, and with a loud, "Oi! What do you think you're doing?" She advanced on the man, her wand drawn.

"Just for the paper. Big news, Voldemort's finally dead!" The man sounded far from convincing as he backed away from and angry Tonks and her wand.

"Hermione? Are you sure you're not hurt?" Ron's attention had turned back to her, and he was frowning with concern.

"I'll be all right," she said, the sudden return of the stinging pain in her shoulder reminding her she had been injured. Probing her hand inside the tear in her robes, she was startled to discover how much the wound had bled. Her black robe was soaked, and when she removed her hand again, it came away covered in blood.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! What do you mean you'll be all right? You need someone to look at _that_." Ron tried to take her arm and draw her in the direction of the Healer who had arrived with Tonks a few minutes before, but Hermione shook him off and glanced back at Severus, who was still bent over Draco's body.

"I can't… I shouldn't leave him," she said.

But then another wave of dizziness hit her, and before she could reach out for Ron again, the ground was suddenly rushing up to meet her, and she knew no more.

* * *

When Hermione awoke, the first thing she recognised was the high, vaulted ceiling of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Her whole body ached with bone-deep exhaustion, but she was pleased to discover, upon testing her limbs, that everything seemed to be working.

There was a soft murmur of voices in the room, beyond the curtain drawn around her bed, and as she raised herself up on her elbows, the curtain was pushed aside and Ginny stepped through.

"Hermione! Oh, I'm so glad you're awake. Are you all right? Do you feel okay?"

The younger girl had dark circles under her eyes, her face pale with worry, but she was nevertheless overjoyed to see Hermione awake, as was evident by the barrage of questions. Ginny was carrying a goblet of a steaming potion, which she set on the small nightstand beside the bed as Hermione lay back again, trying to recall what had happened immediately before she had passed out. She was still wearing the clothes she'd had on under her robes, though they seemed a good deal cleaner than they had been out on the field.

"I'm all right, I think," she said slowly. "How long have I been here?"

"About two hours, I think," the other girl answered, perching on the edge of the bed.

"What about everyone else? Are they here?"

"Ron was here, but only long enough for her to patch him up; the Healers at Godric's Hollow had more serious injuries to deal with, and he was up to taking a Portkey, so they sent him on here. Harry's gone to St Mungo's with Professor Dumbledore – neither of them were in that great a shape, so it's probably a good thing Harry's gone with him – he might let them take a look at him, too."

Hermione nodded. Everything was still a little hazy.

"Professor Lupin is there, too. He was drawn into the trees at the battle and set upon by a group of men… Ron said he heard they were the werewolves who wouldn't turn from Voldemort."

"Will he be all right?"

It was because of Lupin that their numbers had been increased, recruiting those of his kind who would help them in exchange for a more civilised existence.

"I haven't heard yet," Ginny said. "I hope so."

After a moment's pause, the younger girl went on, "I heard about Draco. Hermione, I'm so sorry. I know he was a friend."

It all came rushing back to Hermione with Ginny's words, and she sat up suddenly.

"Where's Severus? Is he all right?"

Ginny nodded. "I haven't seen him, but he must be all right. He's still out there… helping the Ministry."

"What?"

"They're… they're collecting the bodies… of the Death Eaters." Ginny swallowed, looking uncomfortable. "They don't want anyone unaccounted for. The Ministry is stretched thin as it is, and they called for any able-bodied Order members to help, precious few of them there are."

"Able-bodied?" Hermione pushed the sheet aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Severus is far from able-bodied right now. He almost died! He could… no one knows what effect the curse has had on him!"

"Hang on, Hermione." Ginny stopped her from getting to her feet with a firm hand on her shoulder. "Just slow down. You're not so able-bodied yourself at the moment. Now, what curse?"

Hermione blinked.

"He was hit with the Killing Curse, Ginny."

The younger girl stared at her, disbelieving.

"But… but that's impossible! How is he–"

"It's a long story, and I don't even fully understand it myself, yet." Hermione shook off her friends arm and stood up, one hand on the edge of the bed to steady herself as a momentary bout of dizziness hit. It passed quickly, though, and she looked around for her robes, spotting them draped over the chair on the other side of the bed.

"Hermione, wait," Ginny hissed, grabbing her arm as she moved to retrieve them. "You can't! Madam Pomfrey will have my head if you just up and leave!"

"I'll tell her I'm going myself, then," Hermione returned firmly. "I am going, Ginny. I'm not staying here while he's out there. Besides, I'm all right."

The younger girl sighed, biting her lip uncertainly as Hermione pulled herself free again, retrieved her robes and shrugged into them; Madam Pomfrey had done an exceptional job of healing her shoulder. Checking that her wand was in its usual pocket, she turned back to see her friend still watching her worriedly.

"Ginny, please," Hermione implored. "I have to find him."

She had to see with her own eyes that he was okay… _not okay_, she amended, _but still standing, at least_. He may have inexplicably survived the curse, the rune absorbing the brunt of the magic, but it would be foolish to imagine there would be no repercussions. Narrowly missing an Unforgivable – as they had at Christmas – was enough to leave one with a bad case of spell residue sickness. Actually being _hit i/ _ with one and yet managing to survive… who knew what the effects would be?

"All right," Ginny conceded at length, reaching for the goblet on the nightstand, "but not before you take this."

Hermione accepted the compromise and downed the Pepperup Potion quickly, wincing at the unpleasant feeling of steam pouring from her ears. Ginny disappeared for a moment around the other side of the curtain, and then returned with two small phials in her hand.

"And take these with you," she said, holding them out in her palm. "You might need them."

Hermione recognised the phials as Invigoration Draught and Strengthening potion, but she took only the latter from her friend. At Ginny's curious look, she smiled pensively and said, "Invigoration Draught doesn't mix well with Pepperup. Severus taught me that."

Tucking the phial into a pocket, Hermione embraced her friend briefly, then stepped out past the curtain. Madam Pomfrey emerged from behind another curtain some way down the room, and when she spotted Hermione and Ginny, her lips thinned in a disapproving line and she bustled over.

"What do you think you're doing out of bed, Miss Granger? Miss Weasley, what were you thinking, allowing her up so soon?"

"It's my fault, not Ginny's," Hermione said quickly. "She wanted me to stay but I wouldn't listen to her. I have to go back out there to find– to find someone."

The older woman frowned, running her wand in an arc over Hermione.

"You seem to be well enough," she conceded. "But just you don't overexert yourself. I don't want to see you back here again because you've overestimated your capabilities."

"I'll be careful," Hermione promised. "And thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I appreciated what you've done. I wouldn't be in half as good a shape if it wasn't for your hard work."

The mediwitch's expression softened just a fraction, and she said, "Yes, well, you just remember that, and be careful."

At one end of the Hospital Wing, beside the fireplace, was a small table set up with an assortment of battered and broken items: shoes, china mugs, torn books – Portkeys.

"These will all take you back to Godric's Hollow," Ginny explained, pulling Hermione aside as the nearby fireplace flared green and an official-looking wizard in Ministry robes stepped through. "You just pick it up and tap it when you're ready to go. Leave it in the pile at the other end when you arrive – any of _those_ will bring you back."

Hermione selected half a broken china plate, mindful not to cut her hand on the sharp edge, and readied her wand.

"And Hermione," Ginny added, "be careful."

Hermione smiled and nodded at her friend, tapped her wand on the plate, and felt the telltale jerk behind her navel as she was pulled away in a whirl of colour.

A dizzying few moments later, Hermione found herself deposited in a heap in the long grass of Godric's Hollow. A fallen pillar of what had once been the house lay nearby, acting as a makeshift table, covered with the same odd assortment of objects that were being used as Portkeys. Climbing to her feet, Hermione set the broken plate she had used among them, and turned to survey the scene.

The field, which had been littered with bodies, was now almost empty, the churned-up grass and dirt devoid of all but a small group of wizards at the far end, two of whom Hermione recognised as members of the Order.

The sickening smell of burning flesh was not as strong as it had been hours before, but a the fine, grey ash still covered everything, giving the scene a dulled look, even in the warm afternoon sun. She heard voices close behind her, and turned, realising there was a large group of wizards, many in Ministry robes. Upon seeing her, one of those not in official robes broke away from the group, and though the red hair was almost brown with dirt and ash, Hermione instantly recognised Charlie.

"Hermione, what are you doing back here?"

"I, uh, I'm looking for Severus," she explained. "Is he here somewhere?"

"Yeah, he's somewhere out there, I think," Charlie said, gesturing in an arc towards the field and forest beyond. "Couldn't tell you exactly where, but I'm just going back out myself. Do you want to tag along? It's not pleasant, but if you're up to it and you want to find him…?"

"Thanks, Charlie," Hermione said gratefully. "If I can help in the meantime, I might as well."

"What are those?" she queried as they set out across the field towards the trees at the far end.

He looked at her sideways for a moment, before answering carefully, "They're for tagging the bodies."

"Oh."

After a few minutes walking in silence, he spoke again.

"The Ministry wants all bodies accounted for before nightfall," he explained. "The tags are Portkeys they've set up to… to collect them. The orange ones are for Death Eaters – they're being taken to the Department of Mysteries. The Ministry wants the bodies to be destroyed; they're not taking any chances that some small part of Voldemort may have survived in the curse that killed his followers. The blue ones are for others… the Order, any werewolves not bearing the Mark. It takes them to St Mungo's."

"Are there many blue ones?" she asked fearfully.

Charlie shook his head, bumping into her for a moment as he gestured for them to change directions and head for the eastern-most corner of the field.

"Not many," he said. "But there are more Death Eaters than we thought. It seems Voldemort may have ordered some of them to wait while the first group took us on. When they realised he'd been killed, they tried to flee. The anti-Apparition barriers stopped them from escaping, and they had to run, instead. Some of the got quite a way before… before… well, you saw what happened."

"I did," Hermione said softly, her mind latching onto something the red-haired man had said. "Charlie, what of Draco? Have they taken him, too?"

He hesitated, and Hermione stopped, prompting him. "Charlie?"

"For the moment, yes," he finally said. "But we made damn sure the Ministry knew he shouldn't be counted among them."

They started walking in silence again, Hermione's mind on the disturbing image of a pile of bodies somewhere deep inside the Ministry of Magic. It was little consolation that the Ministry had been informed of Draco's true role… would that even matter when he still bore the Mark on his arm?

"Weasley!"

A wizard Hermione vaguely recognised as an Auror was coming towards them. When he saw Hermione with Charlie, he frowned.

"Proudfoot," Charlie greeted with a nod. "You heading back?"

"Yeah," the other wizard said, then jerked his head at Hermione. "What's she doin' out here? No place for a young lady, this isn't."

"We're looking for someone," Charlie answered, shooting Hermione an appeasing look as she drew herself up to argue. "You seen Snape lately?"

"Yeah, he's 'bout half a mile that way," the Auror replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I ran out of tags, but there's a few bodies right down by the river. Got a long way, those ones did. I think Snape was headin' down to tag 'em. No one's covered that direction, yet, either."

He indicated a thicker patch of trees heading down into a hollow some distance away.

"Right, I'll do that," Charlie said. "Thanks."

The Auror headed back the way had come, towards the field and Godric's Hollow, and Hermione met Charlie's eyes.

"I'll go this way, then," she said, nodding in the direction the Auror had indicated Severus was.

"I might see you back at the Hollow," he said. "I'll let the others know you're with him if I arrive first."

Charlie turned away, heading for the thicket of trees, and with a deep breath, Hermione headed down towards the river. She could hear the water in the distance. As she drew closer, the smell that had lingered across the field and forest became stronger, and she realised it was likely because there were still bodies nearby. She'd seen enough of them on the field before she had passed out, but she hoped she found Severus before she encountered anymore.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees in this part of the forest, throwing a dappled light across the ground and making it hard to see too far into the distance.

A twig snapped somewhere to her left, and she spun around, wand training in that direction as she squinted through the trees. She thought she saw a movement, but she didn't dare call out in case it wasn't Severus.

_Who else could it be?_ a voice in her head questioned. _Anyone who would be a threat is dead._

Brushing that thought aside, she continued on.

She could see the river, now, glittering in the sunlight, the trees thinning out around its edge. And near the river's edge was a figure in black, sitting on a fallen log.

Relief coursing through her, she picked her way down to where he stood, calling his name as she approached.

"Severus!"

He turned where he sat, barely stifling the spell that had been on the tip of his tongue before he realised who it was.

"What are you doing here? I could have hurt you."

She stared at him wordlessly for a moment, shocked by his appearance more than his sharp tone. He looked terrible. His right arm was bound tightly against his chest in a crude sling, his wand clutched tightly in his left. The gash across his forehead had been healed, though not well; the line of the cut was raised and red, and his face was still stained with blood, dirt and ash, as were his robes.

"I– I wanted to make sure you're all right," she said. "They told me you were still out here, and…"

He turned his head from her as she spoke, and she suddenly realised there was a body at his feet, just the other side of the log.

Moving closer and standing beside him as he stared down expressionlessly, Hermione fought down a wave of nausea at the sight of the body, hexed and cursed until it was rendered unrecognisable.

"Do you know who it is?" she asked in a whisper.

Severus' face darkened, and in an unseemly gesture, he nudged the bottom of the dead man's robes with the toe of his boot. The bloodstained fabric fell aside to reveal a wooden leg.

Moody.

Severus' closed expression suddenly made sense, and Hermione, though still sickened by the way in which the ex-Auror had died, couldn't help a momentary feeling of vindictiveness that he had met such an end.

Severus reached into a deep pocket of his robes, pulling out a handful of the orange and blue tags.

"I should tag him as a Death Eater, just to spite the bastard." Snape's voice was bitter as he toyed with an orange tag, before selecting a blue one instead and pocketing the rest.

Leaning over the body, he somehow managed to slip the tag over Moody's mutilated hand and onto his wrist. Tapping it with his wand, the body vanished, leaving only a dark stain of blood on the ground before them, which would be washed away by the rising river the next time it rained. Hermione watched the water for a moment, gently lapping at one end of the bloodstain.

"Are you all right?"

Severus' quiet voice broke the silence, and Hermione realised he was looking up at her, the closed expression on his face having been replaced by one of genuine worry as he added, "You shouldn't have come out here."

"I know," she said with a sigh, sitting next to him on the log, but facing the other way, so she could see his face. More quietly, she added, "I'm sorry, I just… I wanted to see you. Are _you_ all right?"

He rubbed his hand tiredly across his eyes, not answering her, but instead saying, "We should keep going. There will be time for discussion later. I'm afraid this gruesome job isn't quite done yet."

Hermione frowned at his avoidance of her question, but stood up, and it was only when Severus joined her that she realised how far from all right he was. Even rising to his feet appeared to be an effort, and his slow, uneven gait as he set off down the bank of the river was nothing like his usual brisk and confident pace.

She followed after him, dismayed. Torn between forcing him to stop and following in silence, she quickened her pace until she reached his side and then fell into step with him, ready to reach out if he should stumble. The ground was uneven, and it wasn't long before he did. She grabbed his elbow to steady him, and he stopped for a moment, looking sideways at her through narrowed eyes.

"I don't–"

"Don't say you don't need my help," she cut him off. "I'm here because I was worried about you – _you_ shouldn't even be out here doing this."

"What would you have me do instead?" It was the longest sentence he could manage in a single breath. Though they'd walked perhaps only half a mile from where she'd found him with Moody's body, his breathing was laboured. It was further proof, in Hermione's eyes, that the curse was having an unknown but lingering effect on him.

"I'd have you put yourself first, for once in your life," she retorted. "God knows what that curse has done to you, Severus. You should probably be in hospital, or at the very least, resting. Not gallivanting around out here. And if you insist on continuing, which you know I don't agree with, it will be with my help."

She glared at him defiantly, daring him to argue again, but he didn't, his mouth snapping closed. Whether it was because he agreed with what she said, or he didn't have the breath to argue, she wasn't sure.

They walked on, Severus neither shaking off her arm nor leaning on her more heavily.

"Did it occur to you," he said after some time, pausing mid-sentence to cough and take a breath, "that I might _need_ to be doing something?"

"To make yourself feel useful?" she scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Severus. You've done quite enough already to contribute to our victory today, and far more than most people will ever know."

He was silent, and she glanced sideways at him.

"It's not that, is it?"

"I need to be doing something," he said at length, turning to look at her; his eyes seemed to be begging for her understanding, her acceptance. "When I'm _doing_, I don't have to _think_."

Realisation dawning, she finally understood why he had pushed himself far beyond the point of exhaustion today. She had no idea what had happened to him between the time she had passed out on the field and found him at the river. Draco's body had been taken away, that much she _did_ know, but where Severus had been at that time, or if he even knew the young Slytherin was being counted amongst the Death Eaters… She daren't bring it up in case he didn't know.

Hermione understood his mindset now; while he was physically hurting, he didn't have to acknowledge the emotional turmoil brought on by the loss of Draco amidst the joy of finally defeating Voldemort for good. Physical pain was welcome while it kept other kinds of pain at bay. He would continue to run himself into the ground until he could no longer keep going, but when he finally crashed, everything he refused to acknowledge, all the feelings he was pushing aside, would overwhelm him.

More frightening to Hermione, though, was the realisation she had no idea what to do for him. All she could do, she supposed, was be there.

Around the next bend in the river, through a thicket of trees that opened into a concealed clearing, they found the other bodies the Auror, Proudfoot, had spoken of to Charlie. The smell of burning flesh rose strong in the air again as they emerged from the trees, and Severus recognised the dead before she did, a soft, muttered expletive spilling from his mouth.

He pulled away from Hermione, going to the black-cloaked figure nearest the river's edge. Watching him for a moment as he knelt down, examining the Death Eater's ruined forearm, Hermione then turned away, focusing on one of the other bodies.

As she drew closer, she stopped, recoiling for a moment as she recognised the dark hair and heavy-set features of her former classmate and dungeon attacker, Crabbe. Drawing a slow, steady breath, she willed herself to move, the logical part of her mind reassuring he could no longer hurt her.

His eyes were wide, his face twisted with pain, even in death. His fingernails had torn deep gouges in the skin of his forearm, around the blackened Dark Mark.

A hand on Hermione's shoulder startled her, and she realised Severus was beside her, staring down at the body of his former student. Looking behind them, the body by the river was gone.

"Who?" she asked softly.

"Goyle," he replied.

Hermione had expected that; where one of the former Slytherins was found, the other would most often be found, too. She took a step back as Severus knelt by the body, slipping another orange tag around the limp wrist and tapping it with his wand, activating the Portkey. As Severus tried to get up, he paused on one knee, seeming to double over as he let out a gasp of pain.

"Severus?"

Hermione moved around in front of him, kneeling down so she could see his face. It was contorted in a harsh grimace, and his wand slipped from his fingers as he pressed the heel of his hand to his chest. She placed her hands on his shoulders, unable to do anything for a few frightening moments as he struggled to breath.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, and he rose shakily to his feet, paler than ever.

Catching her worried look, he cleared his throat and said, "It's all right. It passes quickly."

If anything, knowing that what she had just witnessed wasn't a singular occurrence only worried her more. Picking up his wand and handing it to him, she stood, glancing behind her to where the third body lay.

"Last one," he said quietly. "We can go back then."

Approaching the body, Hermione recognised another former classmate and one of Severus' former charges. Theodore Nott, a slight, wiry young man had clearly not succumbed to the curse without a fight. His wand was lying a few feet from his body and beside it, Dark Mark blackened and split on the exposed skin, was his arm.

Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth, fighting down a fresh wave of nausea at the sight of the severed appendage. Turning her eyes to the body itself, the stump of the arm, protruding from torn robes and clogged with ash, was just as gruesome.

"What hope did any of them have if even that didn't save him?" she whispered, half to herself.

Severus shook his head, looking sickened. In an action that forced Hermione to avert her eyes, he picked up the severed arm and the wand, placing them both atop the dead man's chest before he bent down to tag the attached arm. He withdrew his wand to tap the Portkey and send the body on its way, but he hesitated, looking down at the young man's face.

"I wonder…" his voice was hollow. "I wonder I could have shown any of them another way before it came to this?"

"This isn't your fault, Severus," Hermione said softly, taking a step forwards so she was beside him. "None of this is your doing; they made their choices."

"How many of them didn't have a choice? Or didn't _know_ they had a choice?"

Hermione had no answer for that, but she knew she needed to say something.

"That doesn't matter now," she said as gently as she could. "Come on, it's time to go."

Nodding wordlessly, Severus reached down and tapped the Portkey, the body vanishing before their eyes.

Leaving the clearing beside the river, they turned back up into the forest and began the long walk back to Godric's Hollow. The anti-Apparition barriers were still in place around the area, and even if they hadn't been, Severus was in no shape to Apparate himself, and Hermione didn't have the experience to take him along with her.

The shadows were growing longer, the sun sinking lower into the western sky as they made their way through the trees. They saw no one as they walked, no Ministry officials, no Order members, and thankfully, no bodies.

The further they went, the more Severus slowed, and Hermione could see his energy was finally beginning to run out. More than once he had to gasp out for her to stop, bracing himself against a tree and struggling to catch his breath. She could tell he hated to have to ask her to wait, but his body was no longer as strong as his mind, and he could only push it so far. Halfway back to the Hollow, he fell, catching his foot on an exposed tree root, and Hermione didn't let go of him after she helped him up. Their progress was slower with him leaning on her, but it was also steadier and they had to stop less often.

As they finally emerged from the trees, the fallen stones of the house in Godric's Hollow visible a short distance away, Severus stumbled again, going down painfully in the dirt. This time, he made no move to get up, and Hermione dropped down beside him, pulling him over onto his back.

His body was shaking beneath her hands, the adrenalin that had kept him going for the past few hours finally running dry. His face was covered with dirt, rivulets of sweat drawing tracks through the grime and mud, and strands of his hair were sticking to his forehead. As she leant over him, his eyes fluttered open again.

"Severus, are you with me?"

He moaned softly, his breath wheezing past his lips as he tried to talk.

"Can't– can't do it," he managed.

"It's all right," she soothed, brushing his hair back from his face. "You don't have to do anything anymore. It's over. We can go home."

Dimly, she was aware of approaching footsteps. Hearing a voice, first quiet, then louder, Hermione realised it was Charlie, and that he was summoning a Healer from somewhere nearby.

"Home," Severus said faintly, his eyes drifting closed again. "Will you be there, too?"

"Right by your side," she reassured him.

The Healer reached them, then, kneeling down opposite Hermione and immediately sweeping his wand in an arc above Severus' body. Finally giving up his battle with consciousness, Severus didn't move as the Healer laid one hand across his forehead. Charlie appeared next to Hermione, drawing her to her feet and back a few steps as the green-robed wizard worked.

"Will he be all right?" she asked, leaning on the oldest Weasley for support as her own weariness began to catch up with her.

"Been through the mill, this one," the Healer said, frowning. "Really a case for St Mungo's."

"No, not there," Hermione said softly, shaking her head. Severus had been through enough without half a dozen Healers poking and prodding him, trying to work out how he'd survived the curse. He needed to rest, to recover, and the familiarity of Hogwarts would surely help that, not to mention she could be – _would be _– there with him, to help him.

Understanding her words, Charlie shook his head.

"No, Hogwarts for both of them," he said firmly.

The Healer frowned, but Charlie insisted again, and the green-robed wizard conceded, producing two old shoes – Portkeys – from somewhere in his voluminous robes and handing one to Charlie.

"You bring the girl," he said. Gesturing to Severus, he added, "I'll take this one."

Without waiting for a response, he hoisted Severus up effortlessly, somehow managed to tap the Portkey with his wand, and they both disappeared.

"All right, Hermione?" Charlie said, turning to her. "Ready to go back?"

She swallowed thickly and nodded, unable to explain why now, of all times, she suddenly felt like breaking down. Perhaps it was relief, knowing Severus, while not completely all right, was in capable hands. Perhaps it was just relief that it was all over, that she was going home… to the place that had been her home for seven years, anyway. She had the feeling it might remain that way for a little longer yet.

Exhausted and overwrought, she wiped her eyes and nodded, reaching for the Portkey Charlie held. As she gripped it, he pulled her against him, wrapping one arm securely about her waist.

"A less bumpy ride," he said by way of explanation.

A whirl of colour was the next thing Hermione saw, and she squeezed her eyes shut, dizziness and nausea returning full-force. She vaguely remembered them hitting the ground – upright, thankfully – and seeing the familiar surroundings of the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey, Ginny and another green-robed Healer moving quickly down the long room towards them.

Next to them, the Healer who had Portkeyed in moments before them was Levitating Severus' prone form across to the nearest empty bed. Madam Pomfrey and the other Healer went directly to him, while Ginny moved towards Hermione and her brother.

The young red-head reached for Hermione as she swayed, taking her arm in a bruising grip to steady her. Black spots dancing in front of her vision, Hermione vaguely remembered asking, "Is Severus okay?"

Before the younger girl could answer, though, the room tilted sideways, then upside-down, and for the second time that day, Hermione passed out cold.

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**To be continued...**

_Author's Notes: Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. Regarding Severus, did anyone actually think I kill him? There will, of course, be further explanation into exactly what saved him next chapter, as well as more on how Harry, Ron and Hermione's spells combined to kill Voldemort. Speculation is welcome, though. :P_

Regarding Draco, it was a tough choice to make, but it had to happen this way. War is never pleasant, there are always casualties, and some of those casualties hit very close to home. I try to remember that while writing this story and keep it real.

Proudfoot is an Auror in canon, who first appeared in HBP.

Many, many, many thanks to my beta, Potion Mistress, who makes this story so much better.


	46. On the Horizon

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

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**Chapter 46**

When Hermione woke in the Hospital Wing for the second time, she lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling and the flicker of firelight playing across the high beams. It was night, and a quiet calm seemed to have fallen over the ward. Hermione could hear soft, murmuring voices somewhere not far away, and she raised her head.

The curtains weren't drawn around her bed, and she realised she was at the far end of the Hospital Wing from the entrance. She could see a little way down towards the other end, past a host of other occupied beds – some with curtains drawn around them and only silhouettes visible in soft candlelight beyond, others with curtains open, like hers, and the occupants of the beds sleeping.

Directly across from her, she recognised Harry's tousled dark hair protruding from above the rumpled blankets of another bed. She breathed a sigh of relief, wondering how long ago he'd returned from St Mungo's, and how long she'd been asleep. It had been almost nightfall when she had returned to Hogwarts, but whether that was hours or days ago, she had no idea.

With the thought of her return to Hogwarts came the remembrance of Severus, and she sat up quickly, glancing down the Hospital Wing more carefully at the other beds, hoping to see him occupying one of them. She didn't consider for a moment he would already be up and about, and if he had been, surely he'd have been nearby?

As though sensing one of her patients had awakened, Madam Pomfrey suddenly bustled down the main aisle between the beds, offering a tight-lipped smile when she saw Hermione sitting up.

"Welcome back again, Miss Granger," the older witch said. "How do you feel?"

Hermione stifled a yawn with some difficulty. She was still tired, a dull ache spreading through all her body, but she brushed it aside; there were more important concerns on her mind.

"All right, I think. How long have I been here?"

"About seven hours," the mediwitch said, flicking her wand over Hermione and nodding, satisfied with her assessment. "You seem to be well enough. I trust you will heed my warning not to push yourself this time, though?"

She nodded sheepishly, then glanced past Madam Pomfrey to where Harry slept.

"Is Harry all right?"

The older witch followed her gaze and then turned back, her hard expression softening a little.

"He is understandably exhausted, both physically and magically," she said. "Mr Potter insisted accompanying Professor Dumbledore to St Mungo's and ensuring the Headmaster's health before considering his own."

"How is the Headmaster?" Hermione enquired. She hadn't seen the old wizard until almost the end of the battle, but he had been on his knees at the time.

"It will take him some time to recover, I think," Pomfrey said matter-of-factly. "Would that he could recover here, but the Minister of Magic himself insisted St Mungo's was the proper place for Albus to receive the best care. Mr Potter is lucky they let _him_ return to Hogwarts, and I daresay it was only because he was able to walk out on his own two feet."

Hermione nodded, relieved that Harry had been able to do even that.

"And Severus?" she asked, looking around at the other beds again in the hope she would spot him. "Is he here? Is he all right?"

Madam Pomfrey eyed her for a moment, an unreadable expression crossing her face.

"So," she said at length, "it was him you left here to find, was it? I wondered, when you returned with him last night."

"I had to find him," Hermione said. "I was so worried; he'd been hit with a–"

"A Killing Curse, I know," the older witch cut in. "It was well you did go after him. He was in bad enough shape as it was, even _with_ your help. I'm loathe to think how he would have fared without it."

"How did you know about the curse?"

"You told young Miss Weasley yesterday," Pomfrey answered. "She mentioned it to me when you'd left. Of course, I couldn't see how it was possible, but given the shape he was in last night, it seems you were right. The Healers hardly believe it either, though the residue of the curse is clearly detectable. They can find no explanation for how he survived, and they are most anxious to speak with you about it."

"Is he here?" Hermione asked again, pushing the bedclothes back and getting up, her feet steady enough on the freezing stone floor. She was waiting for Madam Pomfrey to force her back into bed, or berate her for her haste, at least. Instead, she was surprised when the matron handed her a robe – her own, she noticed, though much cleaner than it had previously been – to pull on over the thin Muggle t-shirt and track pants she found herself wearing. A pair of shoes sat waiting on the floor nearby, and she slipped her feet into them, giving the mediwitch a curious look.

"He was here," Pomfrey said, beckoning for Hermione to follow her to the other end of the ward.

Struggling with the buttons of her robe, Hermione hurriedly made after the older witch, pausing only a moment to snatch her wand from the small table beside her bed. When Pomfrey stopped before the fireplace and reached for the jar of Floo powder on the mantle, a sudden feeling of foreboding crept into Hermione's stomach. She had been hoping the other woman would lead her to another bed in the Hospital Wing, another room in the castle – Severus' own rooms, perhaps… unless that was where she was Flooing.

But why would she need her robe and shoes for such a short trip?

"Where am I going?" she asked, accepting a handful of the glittery powder.

"St Mungo's."

Her stricken expression must have been clear, because the older witch shook her head and said reassuringly, "Do not worry. I have every belief Severus will be all right, but you must understand, once the Healers discovered the cause of his ill health, they insisted he be taken there. It was out of my hands – out of any of our hands."

Hermione nodded numbly as the mediwitch placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her into the fireplace. She just wanted to see Severus, and despite the other woman's reassurances, the knowledge that he was at the wizarding hospital did nothing to comfort her.

"Do you need someone to go with you?" Madam Pomfrey asked, a trace of concern in her voice as she regarded Hermione.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione shook her head. She needed to see him alone; the time would come – soon, she hoped – when others would become aware of the true nature of the relationship they shared, but now wasn't the time for explanations… or questions.

"No, I'll be fine," she said quietly. "But thank you for everything you've done, for me and for Severus… for _all_ of us."

"It is _I_ who should be thanking _you_," the older woman said. "All of you who fought out there yesterday have given the rest of us the most precious gift we could hope to receive – freedom to live. Give Severus my best wishes, and Professor Dumbledore, too, should you see him."

A whirl of flames later, Hermione found herself stepping out of a small anteroom lined with fireplaces into the vaguely familiar reception area of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Despite it being the middle of the night, there was a flurry of activity and a queue of people waiting to speak to a very flustered witch behind the reception desk. Realising she had no idea where Severus would be, Hermione joined the queue behind a frightened-looking witch only a few years older than herself. The witch, wrapped in a threadbare cloak, turned and gave her a small smile that failed to reach her eyes, unconcealed worry darkening her gaze.

"Are you here to see someone who was in the battle?" the other witch asked softly.

Hermione stared at her for a moment, then at the line of people in front of them. It suddenly struck her that they must all be here to see friends, family and loved ones who had been at Godric's Hollow the previous day. The numbers on the field had been great, on both sides, but she had failed to recognise until that moment how far-reaching the deaths and injuries suffered in the fight would be.

Turning her eyes back to the other woman, Hermione nodded.

"Me, too," the young witch said with a sigh, taking a step forwards as the line moved and the witch and wizard who had been at the reception desk hurried across to the stairs leading up to the other levels of the hospital.

The line shuffled forwards slowly, and the witch in front of Hermione said little else as they neared the desk. Hermione glanced behind her to see the line growing longer.

An anguished cry suddenly rang out above the quiet buzz of background noise and whispered conversations, and Hermione looked towards the source of the noise. A middle-aged witch in a heavy grey cloak at the front of the queue was shaking her head from side to side.

"No, no, he can't be. You've got the wrong Carmichael." The woman's voice rang out clearly in the sudden hush, distress plain in her tone. "Eddie Carmichael – _Edward_. He's only nineteen… my son."

The Welcome Witch said something too soft for anyone but the witch to hear, and out the corner of her eye, Hermione saw two wizards making their way across the room. Dressed in standard robes but bearing the crossed-wand-and-bone emblem of St Mungo's on their robes, she guessed from their tense stances and drawn wands that they must be the hospital's watch wizards, wary of anyone who disturbed the peace.

And disturb the peace the witch did.

"_My son is not a Death Eater!_" she suddenly shrieked in response to whatever the Welcome Witch had said, pushing herself away from the desk and drawing her wand.

The watch wizards were on her in an instant, calmly but firmly restraining her. Having been relieved of her wand, the witch seemed to sudden collapse in on herself, knees buckling as she sank to the ground.

"My son was not one of them," she sobbed.

The watch wizard hauled her to her feet and half-led, half-carried her from the reception area. The queue of people reformed as those who had stepped forward to witness the incident returned to their places, and Hermione looked around at the other witches and wizards, realising they all looked as shaken as she felt.

The name was familiar, somewhere in the back of her mind… Eddie Carmichael… she could have sworn he'd been a Ravenclaw.

She shivered.

Finally, she reached the front of the line, and as the witch who had been ahead of her hurried away, following the directions of the Welcome Witch, Hermione stepped up to the desk herself.

The witch, looking anything but welcoming, eyed her impatiently.

"Well, who are you here to see? Name?" she snapped.

"Oh, I– uh, Severus Snape," Hermione said quickly.

The other witch frowned, perhaps recognising the name, and flipped through the pile of parchments before her. Pulling one out, she glanced at it quickly before pushing it back into the stack.

"Fourth floor, Spell Damage," she said, already looking past Hermione. "Next!"

Almost pushed aside by the next witch and wizard eager to find their own loved ones, Hermione stepped away from the desk and walked quickly towards the stairs.

_Spell Damage_, she thought, increasing her pace as fear took hold once more. As she ran up the four flights of stairs, all she could think of was the occupants of the Spell Damage ward she had encountered on her first visit to St Mungo's over two years ago… Neville's parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, and her former Defence teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart.

_But they're in the _long term_ Spell Damage ward_, she reasoned with herself as she finally reached the fourth floor. _It can't be that serious… can it?_

The Welcome Witch at the desk of the Spell Damage ward looked far more pleasant and less flustered than the one downstairs, and she smiled kindly at Hermione.

"Hello, dear, can I help you find someone?"

Hermione leant on the edge of the desk for a moment to catch her breath.

"Yes, I'm here– here to see Severus Snape," she finally managed.

"Sorry, love," the witch said. "No one but family to see anyone who was in the battle just yet. Healer's orders."

"But… but I'm… He doesn't have family… and I'm– I need to see him," she insisted.

"You and everyone else," the witch said, though not unkindly. "They're saying he survived the Killing Curse, so you can understand people want to see whether it's true."

"I _know_ it's true," Hermione implored the older woman. "I was there when it happened." Fumbling in the pocket of her robes, she clasped her hand triumphantly over the rune pendant, still safely tucked away where she had put it after they first realised what it had done.

Pulling it out, she held it up for the witch to see.

"I gave this to him," she said quietly. "It was hanging around his neck when the curse hit, and somehow it absorbed the magic itself."

The Welcome Witch stared at it wordlessly, and Hermione pressed the advantage of the shock.

"_Please,_" she implored. "I need to see him. Which room?"

"Hermione!"

Hermione spun around at the familiar voice and found Charlie striding quickly along the hall towards her. She sighed with relief.

"You're here to see Snape?" he asked. Before she could answer, he went on, "Look, I'm sorry they brought him here. I know you didn't want them to, and I tried to stop them. It's probably for the best, though."

"That's okay, Charlie," she said. "I just want to see him. Can I?"

"Of course." Turning to the Welcome Witch, he said, "I'll take her in to see Snape, and I've just Flooed Minerva McGonagall; she'll be coming by later this morning to see Albus."

"Oh, all right," the witch said, still eyeing Hermione curiously as they turned away.

"Is Professor Dumbledore okay?" Hermione asked. Charlie took her arm and led her down the hallway, dimly lit with only a few flickering torches set at intervals along the wall. At the far end, she could see a small group of people mingling, some of whom she recognised as part of the group of werewolves who had fought with the Order. She didn't have time to wonder why they were also there.

"He's resting," the redhead said quietly. "At his age, it will take him longer to recover than some, but recover he will… we all will… in time."

The wistful tone of Charlie's voice made Hermione turned to regard him. In the confusion of victory amidst such loss, she had somehow forgotten how much _others_ had lost, not only in the last few days, but over the course of the whole war, as well.

"Your parents would have been so proud of you today, Charlie," she said quietly. "You, Ron and Ginny."

"And you and Harry," Charlie returned, smiling, though his eyes were suddenly bright in the dim torchlight. "They'd be proud of us all."

They stopped in front of a closed door, and Charlie nodded to it.

"Go on in," he said. "I'm going to sit with Albus until Minerva arrives. You let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Charlie." Hermione smiled gratefully, squeezing his hand briefly where it still rested on her arm. As he stepped away, she called, "Wait… Charlie?"

He stopped, and after a moment of uncertainty, she asked, "How is everyone else? Have we… was anyone… did we lose anyone?"

Charlie hesitated, and Hermione's stomach dropped. She watched him fearfully, trying to recall who she hadn't seen yet following Voldemort's demise. The list was long.

"Remus Lupin is down the hall, too. He's not in good shape, but they're optimistic. There were always going to be casualties, Hermione," he said carefully, but then cleared his throat. "Don't think on that now, all right? Concentrate on the ones we can help."

He turned away, and Hermione watched him until he disappeared through a door further down the hall. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door before her and entered Severus' room.

There was a single pillar candle on the small bedside cabinet; it cast a soft, yellow glow over the sparsely-furnished room, the small, curtained window, and the empty chair beside the bed. Silent and still, Severus lay under a soft cotton sheet, his dark hair spread out on the pillow beneath his head.

Closing the door quietly behind her, Hermione crossed the room and pulled the chair close to the edge of the bed as she sat down. Toeing off her shoes, she tucked her feet up underneath her and undid the buttons of her robe, letting the garment hang loosely from her shoulders. Then she turned her gaze to Severus again.

His right arm, resting atop the sheet, was heavily bandaged from mid-bicep to wrist. The curse that had shattered the bone must have been serious if the Healers hadn't been able to mend it straight away. His left hand was lying by his side, nearest to her, and she reached out, gently running her fingers over the pale skin. He was cold to the touch, and she clasped the hand in her own, pulling it gently towards her and trying to transfer her warmth to him.

In the silence of the room, his soft, even breathing seemed to resonate, but it was a far cry from the harsh, gasping breaths he had been taking before he had finally collapsed at Godric's Hollow. Whether he merely slept now, or had yet to regain consciousness since that time, Hermione didn't know.

The cut across his forehead had been properly healed this time, no trace of the red line of the scar visible any longer. His skin was clean and pale but for the dark smudges of exhaustion still smeared beneath his eyes. Letting her eyes trail from his face to further down his body, Hermione saw the thin white line of a new scar at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Releasing his hand to reach out and touch the mark, she realised the rest of his body was as cold as his hand had been. As her hand rested across his shoulder, she felt a tremor run through him.

The door of the room opened a moment later, and Hermione withdrew her hand from where she was tracing the line of the scar. Looking up, she saw a green-robed witch enter the room, a wand and two phials of potions in her hands. If the witch was surprised to see Hermione, she didn't show it; setting the phials in a small stand on the bedside cabinet, her profile was thrown into the light of the candle, and Hermione saw the witch was older than she had thought at first glance across the dim room, fine silver hair pulled tightly into a bun.

"It's times like these I wonder why we have visiting hours," the Healer sighed, peering down at Severus for a moment before turning her gaze to Hermione. "Hello, dear, I'm Healer Derwent. In charge here tonight, as luck would have it."

Hermione smiled, the older witch's calm tone putting her at ease.

"I'm sure you've had a busy night," she said quietly, glancing down at Severus. "Is he just asleep, or…?"

The Healer ran her wand down the length of Severus' body, hovering it a few inches above the sheet; a soft, fuzzy light glowed around the length of wood in an ever-changing myriad of colours. Hermione had no idea what it meant, and the Healer spoke no audible words of any spell.

"He is," she confirmed, and Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding as the woman went on. "The potions he's been given will see to it that he sleeps out the night, and the longer he remains resting the better."

As Hermione watched, the older witch drew the sheet down Severus' torso, exposing the pale skin of his chest and the spot where the curse had hit him. The skin, previously blistered and red from the heat of the melted metal and the magic of the curse, had been healed, though the rune-shaped mark created by the impact still remained. It seemed to Hermione he would carry the scar for the rest of his life… a reminder of what might have been.

Healer Derwent touched her wand lightly to the newly-healed, pink skin, and Severus' breathing suddenly hitched, his brow creasing slightly. Hermione studied his face, wondering if he was on the verge of wakefulness, but he seemed to relax again as the Healer withdrew her wand and pulled the sheet back up, a small frown creasing her face.

Tucking her wand in a pocket of the lime-green robes, she regarded Hermione carefully.

"So, am I to assume you're the young lass who was with him last night?"

Hermione nodded.

"I have been told," the witch went on cautiously, "that the Killing Curse actually hit him. Of course, I can detect traces of a very near miss… and then there is the scar… but perhaps you can set the record straight?"

"I suppose in a way it _did_ hit him, and in a way it didn't," she said. At the Healer's frown of confusion, Hermione reached into her pocket. As her fingers closed around the pendant again, they also brushed a cool glass phial, and she drew both objects out, frowning at the second one in confusion.

Suddenly it came back to her – Ginny handing the phial to her in the Hospital Wing before she'd gone back to Godric's Hollow to find Severus.

"How could I have forgotten?" she muttered under her breath. Seeing the other woman's curious expression, she explained, "I had this in my pocket the whole time… It could have helped him. I clean forgot about it."

"It was well you _did_ forget," the other woman said, evidently recognising the coloured liquid. "Strengthening potion at that time would have only served to prolong the inevitable. Having a false impression of one's limits and abilities can be a dangerous thing indeed."

Hermione paled, unexpectedly thankful for her forgetfulness.

Tucking the phial back in her robe pocket, she glanced at the other object in her palm – the remains of the pendant – and laid it on the sheet beside Severus' covered legs for the other woman to see.

The Healer stared at the twisted lump of metal, confusion turning to disbelief as she appeared to make the connection between the object and the scar on Severus' chest. Moving around the bed near to where Hermione sat, she reached out to pick up the pendant. Hermione had to stifle the sudden impulse to reach out and grab it herself before the other woman could touch it, but she shook her head and remained in her seat, confused at her sudden compulsion.

She watched as the Healer held it up by the chain, examining what once had been the rune of protection. Furrowing her brow, the older woman tapped her wand to the metal, and it glowed brilliant green just for a brief moment.

"My goodness," she breathed. "How is that possible?"

Hermione shook her head, glancing back at Severus. She had no explanation for what had saved him, nor what magic had enabled her own Killing Curse to merge with those of Harry and Ron, finally bringing about Voldemort's demise. It had just… happened.

Perhaps the Headmaster, in wisdom borne from years of experience with all magic – Dark and otherwise – would offer some explanation when he was well enough to think on it for a time. Perhaps it was simply fate and chance, and no explanation would ever justify what had taken place the previous day.

"Where did it come from?" The Healer's voice interrupted Hermione's thoughts, and she glanced up to see the other woman still examining the pendant carefully.

"My parents gave it to me," Hermione said quietly. "They're Muggles."

Thankfully, the Healer didn't question why Severus had been wearing it during the battle. She seemed to be thinking deeply, pondering how a piece of Muggle silver could have possibly blocked the deadliest curse known to wizard-kind.

"Might I relieve you of this for a time?" she finally asked.

Hermione hesitated, once again unable to explain her reluctance to let the necklace go. It was useless to her as jewellery, but it still held a special significance… perhaps now _more_ than when her parents had given it to her or when she had passed it on to Severus. Perhaps it was silly and sentimental… but it had saved his life.

"We'd like to understand how it deflected the curse," the Healer pressed.

"I don't know if it _can_ be understood," she murmured.

"Be that as it may, we'd like to try. If such protection could be captured, it would save more than one life."

Hermione reached out to the lump of silver where it swung from the end of the chain. It was cold now, the heat of the curse long-since faded.

"Will I get it back?" she asked. Smiling wryly, she added, "I know it seems worthless… but it isn't to me."

"Of course, dear. You have my word," the older woman assured her. "There is nothing worthless about _anything_ that has saved a life, even inexplicably so."

She dropped her hand, and as the Healer tucked the pendant away in a pocket of her bright robes, Hermione's eyes fell on the potions the other woman had set on the bedside table upon entering the room. One looked similar to a potion she had brewed before; the other she didn't recognise at all.

"What are those for?" she asked, gesturing in their direction. "Is the blue one a restorative draught?"

The Healer appeared surprised at her knowledge. "It's a combination of a magical restorative and strengthening potion, used when a witch or wizard has overspent themselves both physically and magically."

"He just kept going until he couldn't go any further," Hermione said quietly. "He was afraid to stop because it meant he'd have time to think."

Nodding, the other woman said, "I daresay he didn't realise how much the curse had drained his strength, either. If it wasn't for the scar where he was hit, I'd have diagnosed it as one of the worst cases of spell residue sickness I've seen in a good long while."

"I thought that just made you nauseous?" Hermione questioned, thinking back to Christmas when she and Severus had both suffered a near miss.

"In it's most common form, yes," Healer Derwent agreed, "but in more serious cases the witch or wizard exhibits a significant weakening of the body, hence the use of strengthening potions. In _this_ case, the over-expenditure of his magic has only compounded the weakness."

"He'll recover, though, won't he?" Hermione asked, glancing worriedly at Severus' face again. Aside from the dark circles beneath his eyes and his injured arm, he seemed so… all right.

"Oh, that he will," the older woman affirmed, "but just don't expect him to be completely recovered when he first awakens. He's very lucky to be alive, and these things take time and patience."

_Patience,_ Hermione thought. She couldn't see Severus having much of that… not for himself, not when it was his own body holding him back. Perhaps things would be different now.

"And the other potion?" she asked. It was a murky orange colour, settling to a deep brown at the base of the phial.

"A pain-killing draught, specifically for use with curses that repel standard pain-relief potions. The charmed bandages on his arm are working to repair the damage and remove the last traces of the curse, but until it is completely removed it is a painful process. Should he rouse before such time, I expect he'll need something to take the edge off the pain."

Moving back around the bed to the table and the phials, the Healer picked up the orange-coloured one and shook the phial.

"It didn't seem to be that serious an injury earlier," Hermione commented. "He couldn't use his arm much, but…"

"It's a nasty curse, and a Dark one, too," the woman replied. "The impact itself is painful, rendering the limb mostly unusable, but the pain diminishes quickly, giving the victim a false impression of the seriousness of the injury. The longer it's left untreated, the worse it becomes, and the removal of the curse in order for the injury to properly heal is the most painful part."

Shaking the phial once more, she set it down again. "Am I to assume you'll be here for some time?" she asked, and Hermione nodded. "I see you know something of potions. If he should require this one before I make my next rounds, there are two doses in the phial. Do not give him a second one within two hours of the first."

"And the restorative?" Hermione asked.

The older woman ran her wand over Severus once more, appearing satisfied with the result.

"Leave that one until I return. His strength has increased somewhat even as we've been speaking, which is a good sign. Once he's awake, I'll be able to better assess how much of the potion is necessary. But I'm afraid I must move on for now. As I said earlier, visiting hours do not seem to apply today. We're terribly short-staffed, so I'm pleased to leave one of my patients with such a capable person watching over them."

Hermione gave the Healer a small smile. "I'll be here until he wakes up… and afterwards."

Crossing to the door, Healer Derwent hesitated with one hand on the doorknob and turned back to Hermione.

"Perhaps it isn't my place to say it," she began, "so I hope you'll forgive my temerity, dear. I've seen many strange things in my time as a Healer, as many unexplainable recoveries as there have been unexplainable deaths. I doubt any of us will ever fully understand the mysterious ways in which magic sometimes works, but it is clear some magic was at play to save him from that curse. I don't know either of you beyond what I've seen here and now, but I can see you care deeply for him."

Hermione smiled pensively and nodded, wondering where the other woman was leading.

"We will examine the pendant to try to discover how it saved his life, but I don't know what we will find. Perhaps, having gifted it to him, it was _your_ magic that saved him."

Before Hermione had the chance to think on that and formulate a response, the Healer took her leave, closing the door quietly behind her.

Pulling Severus' left hand into her own again, she leant back in the chair, contemplating the Healer's final words. They triggered a memory in the back of her mind, and she frowned, trying to recall it. What had Dumbledore said before the confrontation? Trust and love were their strengths and would see them prevail?

Love was a powerful emotion, that much Hermione already knew. It was Lily Potter's love for her son that had invoked the ancient magical protection that had saved Harry the first time Voldemort had tried to kill him… was it possible such magic had been invoked at Godric's Hollow again yesterday? Had such magic saved Severus?

She shook her head as she tried to grasp such a concept. It was beyond reason… but was it beyond the realm of possibility? Some things went beyond reason.

Yawning, Hermione realised her own tiredness was again catching up with her. She shifted in her chair to she could sit sideways, resting her head against the backrest and watching Severus for signs of waking. The rise and fall of his chest was slow and steady, and her eyes grew heavy watching it. She didn't want to fall asleep, though; if he woke, _she_ wanted to be awake to see him open his eyes.

She rubbed her thumb softly across his knuckles, glancing around the darkened room. The flickering candle threw eerie shadows across the walls and merged with hazy darkness in the far corners of the room.

The night wore on; Hermione thought she must have dozed off at some stage, because Severus' head had turned towards her without her noticing the movement. She wondered if he'd woken, but calling his name softly brought no response. She moved, stretching the aching muscles in her back and neck, and settled in a different position in the chair, propping her chin up on her hand as she regarded him.

The grey dawn was beginning to appear on the horizon, visible through the small curtained window, when Severus began to stir. The first sign of him waking was an occasional hitch in his breathing, as though the pain of his healing arm was bothering him, but not enough to rouse him fully just yet.

Releasing her grasp on his hand, Hermione rose and went around the other side of the bed to retrieve the pain-killing potion.

When she returned to her chair and glanced at his face, she found herself looking into his dark eyes. He blinked once… twice… as if trying to focus on her.

"Hermione?"

The word was barely a whisper, his voice hoarse with pain and exhaustion. But he was awake.

"Severus," she whispered, setting the phial carefully in her lap and grasping his hand again. Leaning forwards, she reached up to his face with her other hand and touched his cheek lightly. He sighed and turned his head into her touch, his eyes drifting closed.

When he opened them again, they seemed clearer, and he held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke.

"You're here," he murmured. She simply nodded, and his eyes moved past her then, taking in the small room, still in semi-darkness. "Where is here?"

"We're at St Mungo's." She felt his breathing quicken slightly, and she trailed her hand from his cheek down to his shoulder, anticipating his next move.

"What happened?" Trying to sit up, he gave a sudden, sharp hiss of pain, and Hermione gently pressed down on his shoulder, encouraging him to relax back against the pillows.

"Easy, Severus," she cautioned. "You're here for a reason."

He slumped back, trying unsuccessfully to move his bound arm; the attempt showed Hermione that it was indeed the source of his pain.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, letting out a slow, deep breath as the pain momentarily subsided.

"The curse has to be removed before it can heal," she said quietly. "It will be painful for a while yet, but the Healer left a potion to help ease the pain a bit. Do you need some now?"

"Not yet," he said. Pulling his good hand away from hers, he raised it to his chest, fingering the rune-shaped scar gingerly at first, then more thoroughly when he realised it was healed. After a moment, he allowed the hand to drop to his side again, this time beneath the sheet.

His eyes travelled to her face, then down over the rest of her body where she sat.

"Are you all right?" he enquired.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Just worried about you."

He let out a soft huff and closed his eyes again. She could tell his arm was paining him; there was a small furrow between his brow, and a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead.

"How long have I been here?" Even his voice had a strained edge to it.

"Not long," she said quietly. "Just overnight, so far, though I think they'll have you stay for a few days… just as a precaution. I think you should take a dose of this potion, Severus."

"Precaution against what?" Ignoring her last statement, he turned his head away and coughed, his face contorting as the action sent another jolt of pain through his arm.

Trying to sound reassuring, she explained, "To make sure your arm heals… and no one is really sure what effect the other curse might have on you yet. Better that you stay here for a few days, just in case."

"What of the others?" he asked. "Is everyone all right?"

"I don't have news of everyone," she said, hoping he wouldn't ask about Draco. "Professor Dumbledore is just down the hall, but they think he'll be all right. No one is sure about Professor Lupin yet, but we're hoping. Professor McGonagall is stopping by to see the Headmaster today, so although I haven't seen her, I assume she's all right."

"And your friends?"

"They're okay, too," she said, a faint smile crossing her face at his consideration. "We were all very lucky."

"Not all of us," he said flatly. He tried to turn away from her, but his injured arm wouldn't allow him to roll onto his side. Berating herself for such a broad statement, she watched as he tried to find a comfortable position, finally settling for remaining on his back, his head turned away from her.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she began. "I–"

"Don't."

The single word halted her, and as she watched, another grimace of pain crossed his face. His whole body tensed for a moment, then he exhaled a slow, measured breath. Finally, after a few silent moments, he added, "I don't wish to talk."

"And if I do?" she countered softly, encouragingly.

"Then talk to someone else," he snapped roughly.

Hermione sat back in her chair, stung, and tried to blink away the tears that welled in her eyes. She could see that he was hurting, physically and otherwise, but what more could she do than be there for him? She desperately wanted to hold him, but she was afraid of hurting him further, or worse, having him mistake her caring for pity. She had taught him the difference well over the past months, but it was clear he wasn't thinking straight at the moment.

She sat silently for some time, hoping he would realise it would take more than a harsh word following her foolish statement to turn her away. Draco had come to be her friend, too, after all.

"I'm sorry," Severus' voice came a while later. "I had no right to speak to you like that. Perhaps it would be better if I didn't speak at all."

She wiped her eyes before she spoke. "No, that wouldn't be better," she sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to– to push you, but no one will think any less of you for showing emotion, Severus, least of all me… not after what we've all been through. Please, I… I know you're hurting, and I want to help… I just don't know what do to."

"Nor do I."

The words hung in the air as his eyes flickered back to meet hers again. She saw mirrored in them all the confusion and despair she felt. It was inexplicably wrong that they should be so disconsolate when finally, after so many years, Voldemort had been defeated and the whole wizarding world was free to live without fear. The elation was there, deep within Hermione, but to let it show – to smile, laugh, jump for joy as she had imagined she might when the war was finally won – seemed wrong… seemed a great disrespect to those who had been lost.

She hoped he wouldn't yet be able to bring himself to ask what had become of Draco's body. The last news she'd had was that it had been taken to the Ministry with the other Death Eaters… regardless of his true loyalties.

By the time Severus asked, Hermione hoped she would be able to tell him something other than that. Draco's death would be hard enough to take without him being counted among the enemy rather than those who had died for their own cause. With that thought, Hermione again wondered who on their side had been lost… Charlie had seemed reluctant to tell her, or had he simply not known the details himself?

"What are you thinking?"

His voice drew her from her thoughts, and she realised he had been watching the myriad of emotions that must have been playing across her face.

"I'll tell you later," she said softly. "Now, I think you should take some of this potion."

He didn't protest this time, though the look in his eyes gave away the fact that he suspected she was keeping something from him. Perhaps he was too tired to begrudge it at the moment. Whatever the reason, he allowed her to place one hand behind his head, tilting it forwards as she brought the phial to his lips. As the Healer had instructed, she only allowed him to drink half, then recapped the phial and rose to set it back on the bedside table.

"Are you staying here for a while?" he murmured. The potion seemed to have taken the edge off the pain already, and his eyes slipped closed again as his face relaxed.

"I am."

Settling in her chair again, she leant forwards, resting her head on the bed beside him. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but she was tired and wanted to be close to him. He withdrew his left arm from beneath the sheet again and rested it gently on her head, his fingers tangling through her hair.

The soothing caress of his fingers through her hair lulled her almost into slumber before his hand ceased its movement. Raising her head, his hand falling away as she did so, she realised he had fallen back to sleep.

His face was turned towards her this time, a strand of hair falling across his cheek. She reached up and brushed it back behind his ear, then shifted in her chair again so that this time she could rest her head beside his shoulder. Just being with him was enough… for now.

* * *

They were all walking wounded in the week following the battle at Godric's Hollow, though Hermione, of all of them, seemed to have come through the most relatively unscathed.

Severus had been released from St Mungo's after three days. Hermione had hardly left his side during that time. Although his strength was gradually returning and his arm would heal in time, he might never again be the deadly duellist those who had seen him at Godric's Hollow knew him to be.

Healer Derwent, still perplexed by his survival, had brought three of her colleagues to examine him the day after he'd awoken. Unfortunately, the others shared little of her calm, easy temperament, and they poked and prodded Severus until he was ready to leap out of bed and hex the next green-robed witch or wizard who entered his room into oblivion.

Such moments of temper were rare, though, and for the most part, he was worryingly silent. Hermione tried to coax him to talk about Draco, but was rebuffed at every attempt. She spent as much time with him back at Hogwarts as she could, but a good deal of it was filled with a heavy silence. She tried to encourage him to talk about other things, but he just… wasn't there. He seemed numb, and it frightened her.

Severus spent a good deal of time in the lab, brewing potions to help those still in the Hospital Wing. It was unnecessary – Hermione could have managed, and St Mungo's could have supplied anything else Madam Pomfrey required – but he seemed more content when he was occupied. Like immediately after the battle, Hermione feared he was using the brewing as a distraction from his thoughts – from facing the reality of Draco's death, which she knew was affecting him far more deeply than he would admit, even to her.

Although he tried to hide it, he was still quick to tire after physical exertion, and many of the brews he was making were complex and required a great deal of concentration, even from someone so used to making them as him.

For all he seemed able to sleep during the day, exhausted after brewing a complex potion, the nights were different. In unspoken agreement, Hermione had stayed with him every night since they had returned to Hogwarts, and more than once she had woken to find him caught in the grips of vivid dreams. He refused to speak of them after she shook him awake one night, turning away from her in the pretence of going back to sleep. She could tell from his breathing that he remained awake for a long time, and she moved close behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her head between his shoulder blades. If her touch, her nearness, would keep away even some of the horrible dreams… well, it was something.

Rest was one thing he should not be without.

The near-miss of the Killing Curse had not been without its effects, as evident by his tiredness. In the days following the battle, word had spread like Inferi-fire through the Order, the Ministry and the wizarding world – thanks to the _Prophet_ – that the ex-Death Eater had survived the curse.

Hermione's rune pendant had been examined by the Healers, who could find no explanation for the protection it had afforded him, and the ruined clump of metal had been sent to the Department of Mysteries for further investigation. Despite Healer Derwent's reassurance, she doubted it would be returned to her now.

Hermione knew they wouldn't find anything. Leaving Severus alone for a few hours one day, she had visited the other Order members who were occupants of the Spell Damage ward – Dumbledore and Lupin. The Headmaster, looking frail and old, smiled knowingly when Hermione had explained the circumstances surrounding Severus' survival to him. Dumbledore repeated his words from the eve of the battle, that love and trust were more powerful than any Dark magic curse could ever be… and with no other possible explanation, Hermione now believed that had saved Severus.

The necklace had been gifted to her by her parents; Muggles they might be, but they had unconsciously poured all their love and concern for their only daughter into the runic symbol of protection. Hermione, in turn, had gifted it to Severus in an impulsive moment of fierce protectiveness, all her fear and love for him only adding to the power it already possessed.

"Do you not see, Hermione?" the aging wizard asked, his tired eyes shining. "It was your love for Severus that saved his life, just like your love for your friends, and theirs for you, allowed you to defeat Tom."

"I… I don't understand, sir." She frowned in confusion. Dumbledore had seen the three Killing Curses merge into one as she, Harry and Ron had stood before Voldemort the final time… but how had it come about?

"You are aware of the prophecy that has now been fulfilled," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, but how–"

"Think on its words," the old wizard insisted. "It spoke of Harry having _a power the Dark Lord knows not_. At Godric's Hollow, that power was revealed."

Hermione stared at the Headmaster, confusion written clearly on her face. Perhaps the old wizard had been given too many potions… was he trying to say love had been Harry's power over his foe? It was a powerful emotion, yes… but to defeat the most powerful Dark wizard since Grindelwald… surely there must have been more to it?

"Love, trust and true friendship, Hermione," Dumbledore said, forestalling her question. "Tom Riddle has never known any of those things. He had no understanding of love, having never been the recipient of it himself; he had no concept of trust, having gained his standing through power and intimidation. In uniting together to defeat him, all of us – and most importantly, the three of you – harnessed a power he could neither understand nor counter."

Being back at Hogwarts was strange for Hermione, though they'd only been away for a few days. Despite most of the students and teachers being away from the school for the summer, the castle was still a hive of activity. The three Weasleys were still staying in the Gryffindor common room, the smoke was still rising from the chimney of Hagrid's Hut, and the Hospital Wing was still full, many who had been taken there following the battle choosing to remain and recover, rather than go on to St Mungo's or their own homes.

Harry had slept for two days straight in the Hospital Wing and remained there for a further three, until Madam Pomfrey was convinced he was not only physically recovered, but of sound mind as well.

After leaving the Hospital Wing, Harry kept to himself, choosing to make the Room of Requirement his temporary haven. Even within the school he was being hailed a hero, and the wizarding media, hankering for new stories about the Boy-Who-Lived, had no respect for the time and space those who had fought in the battle needed.

Dumbledore, too, had been allowed to leave St Mungo's after only a day longer than Severus. Although the Headmaster had returned to the school on his own two feet, Hermione had been shocked at how frail the old man remained. She hadn't seen him fighting at Godric's Hollow until the very end, and he had seemed tired but well enough during their conversation at St Mungo's, but it was clear the battle had taken its toll. He had always been old, of course, but had never really seemed his age until now.

Lupin was the last to be released from the hospital, almost a week after the others. He had been set upon by a group of werewolves loyal to Voldemort, and only a fierce defence by those of his kind whose loyalty had turned to the Order had saved his life. His recovery was slowed by his lycanthropy, some healing potions failing to work as they should have due to the Wolfsbane in his system. He had returned to Hogwarts limping and leaning heavily on a cane, but there was a smile on his face and a light in his eyes. Finally, the lives of his childhood friends had been avenged.

Of the Order, Elphias Doge, Hestia Jones and Moody had been casualties in the battle at Godric's Hollow, along with four of the group of werewolves Lupin had recruited to fight with the Order. And then there was Draco. Given the casualties on the other side – none bearing the Mark had been found alive – such few lives seemed a small price to pay for the freedom of all.

But for those who had been close to the victims, it seemed a much higher price indeed.

The _Daily Prophet_ hadn't, as Severus had expected and Hermione had feared, labelled him a supporter of Voldemort and demanded he be tried for past crimes. Instead, to his eternal chagrin, the front page of the newspaper one morning not long after Voldemort's defeat was emblazoned with the most ridiculously exaggerated story of their relationship.

Written by the insufferable Rita Skeeter, the report described how a relationship of mutual respect between the student and teacher both working for the Order of the Phoenix had blossomed into a cautious friendship. Then, when his treachery was discovered and he barely managed to escape Voldemort with his life, the young witch had allegedly put aside her obsessive studying to nurse him back to health, consequently falling in love with the reclusive yet selfless man she discovered behind the cold façade.

Hermione had laughed until she cried reading the horribly clichéd article that evening – she had no idea where the woman had gleaned the supposed 'facts' of the story, but they no longer had to worry about how or when to reveal their relationship to the wider world. Looking at the accompanying moving photograph, though, Hermione had dissolved into real tears. It showed her supporting Severus as he staggered across the field, carrying Draco, and then standing helplessly beside him as he wept over the body in his arms.

Severus, finding her still crying a short time later, took the article from her hands and read it with a closed expression on his face. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he turned his gaze to the photograph, and the parchment crumpled slightly where he was gripping it too tightly. Hermione knew he was fighting the urge to throw the paper across the room, into the leaping flames of the fire.

Instead he turned the parchment over, reading the other side. His eyes narrowed, and he dropped the _Prophet_ on the coffee table, striding to the fireplace. With a quick pinch of Floo powder, he called out for the Headmaster's office and disappeared.

Wiping her eyes, confused, Hermione took up the parchment again and turned it over. The writing on the back was a Ministry notice, stating a decision had been made that the bodies of all those bearing the remains of the Dark Mark were to be destroyed. Draco bore the same Mark as the rest of them, but surely his true loyalty would give cause for an exception?

Hermione swallowed thickly and read on. There was a list of names.

Whole families lay somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry, awaiting their fate, and for those who hadn't borne the Mark but who had lost a family member and now sought to have the body returned to them for burial, no such courtesy would be allowed.

Halfway down the listed, the names of three Malfoys caught Hermione's eye. _Lucius, Narcissa… and Draco._

Tossing the _Prophet_ aside, Hermione followed Severus.

"It is out of my hands, Severus," Dumbledore was saying quietly when Hermione arrived. The old wizard was sitting behind his desk, still looking frail and tired, and neither he nor Severus spared a glance at her arrival. "You must understand, while I can exercise some control and influence at the Ministry, I have no leverage in this situation. The Minister will not take the chance any lingering trace of Tom Riddle's magic be released into the world again. I have tried, _believe me_, but he will not be moved."

"So Draco," Snape's voice broke as he spoke the name, "though he took the Mark _only_ because _we_ offered him no alternative, will be counted as one of them, destroyed as one of them?"

"I'm sorry, Severus," the Headmaster said, "I truly am."

Severus turned away from the older man and raised a shaking left hand to his forehead. Hermione could see the despair written clearly on his face, but she daren't move forward and reach out to him. Frustrated with his own weakness since returning to Hogwarts, his temper had been hanging by a thread, and the calm with which he spoke now seemed false, unnatural.

"After everything that has happened, Albus," he began in a low voice, "am I not allowed to ask this of you, this one thing?"

"You ask the impossible!" Dumbledore seldom raised his voice, but now it rang out, anger and frustration clear. "You cannot ask me for what I cannot give!"

"There was a time when you could make _anything_ happen, old man," Severus spat, spinning back to face the Headmaster. "_Anything_."

Dumbledore stared at Severus and leant back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

"There was a time when I _thought_ I could make anything happen," he said heavily. "I have since realised how foolish such a notion was. I'm sorry, Severus. After all you have done, you know I would give you this if I could… but I cannot."

Severus turned away again and sank into one of the armchairs, the anger leaving him only to be replaced with utter defeat. Hermione did go to him, then, sitting on the armrest and resting one arm across his shoulders. The sling still binding his right arm against his body had slipped sideways a little about his neck, and she adjusted it carefully. If he objected to her ministrations, he made no move to stop her.

She truly believed Dumbledore had done everything he could, and Severus would accept that in time. His guilt over Draco's death was heavy on his shoulders, and the knowledge the younger man would not even be allowed a dignified resting place only served to compound that guilt. It had cast a shroud over any joy he might have felt at finally being free to live without bonds again. While he was physically recovering, with each passing day he seemed to withdraw into himself a little more.

"It does nothing for Draco's memory to blame yourself for his death, Severus."

The Headmaster's voice was quiet, and Severus' responding laugh was harsh and bitter.

"Who else is left?" he asked.

"Myself, if you still wish to lay blame," Dumbledore said.

Severus was silent for some time, then he stood.

"What difference does it make where blame is laid?" He moved to the fireplace and took a small amount of powder from the Floo jar. "It changes nothing. A young man who fought and died for us will still be known as a Death Eater to everyone else."

An awkward silence fell between Hermione and the Headmaster as the green flames of Severus' departure died down. She understood Severus' frustration, his anguish at the young Slytherin's death, but she felt for the Headmaster as well, certain the older wizard held himself to blame, just as Severus did.

"I truly wish I could do something to ease Severus' grief," Dumbledore sighed, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "Alas, I cannot."

"I know that, sir," she said quietly. "And _he_ knows that, too… he just needs time, I think. He's so… so _closed_ at the moment… even I can't seem to reach him."

"Keep trying, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, a sad, pensive smile crossing his face. "This time of mourning will pass, and Severus will remember there is still much to live for. He just needs to be reminded."

* * *

**To be continued…**

_Author's Notes:_ Thanks, as always, to everyone who has read and reviewed. It's getting very close to the end now. Another chapter and an epilogue, I think… but don't quote me on it. I thought this would be the last one but there was too much to say.

Healer Derwent isn't canon, but her ancestor Dilys Derwent was a Healer and also Headmistress of Hogwarts from 1741 – 1768.

The title of this chapter is a line from Pink Floyd's _Comfortably Numb_. A stunning version of the song can also be heard on the new Gregorian album, Master of Chant Chapter V.

Last but never, ever least, thanks to Potion Mistress, who makes this story so much better through her input.


	47. Letting Go

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them._

**Chapter 47**

When Hermione returned to Severus' rooms, the Headmaster's words of wisdom echoing in her mind, she found him standing by the window, his back to the rest of the room. With the darkness outside and the soft firelight in the sitting room, Hermione could see his reflection, the _Daily Prophet_ in his left hand.

Approaching cautiously from one side, Hermione saw his eyes were fixed on the photograph that captured the moments around Draco's death; his hand was shaking.

"Severus?" She kept her voice barely above a whisper. His stay in St Mungo's, the slow recovery of his own body and his guilt over Draco's death had pushed him closer and closer to breaking point over the past week. Whether his temper would snap and he would lash out, or finally break down, Hermione wasn't certain; the line between his despair and anger seemed thin and blurred. She trusted him not to hurt her – he would be more likely to direct his anger at his own person – but that didn't mean she would unnecessarily antagonise him, either.

But she had to do something to pull him from his misery… somehow, she would, for both their sakes.

Hermione stopped a few feet from him, watching him uncertainly and trying to gauge his mindset.

"You don't need to be here," he finally said, dropping the hand holding the _Prophet_ to his side.

"I know that," she responded, moving forward a single pace. "I _want_ to be… if you want me here."

His reflection's eyes flickered to meet hers in the window, but then he turned away from her and walked slowly across the room to the fireplace, standing close to the hearth – whether for warmth or light, Hermione wasn't sure, but she followed a short distance and stopped, giving him the space he seemed to need.

"I don't know what I want, Hermione… I just… I just don't know," he sighed, glancing at the photograph again, clearer in the light from the crackling fire. After a moment, he went on, "I should know by now that life is rarely fair, that those who deserve some semblance of respect rarely receive it, even in death. I just wish he, of all people, could have the proper farewell he deserves… given his death was hardly his fault."

"It was Voldemort who took Draco's life, Severus," Hermione said, hearing the unspoken self-blame in his words. "Not you, not the Headmaster… no one but Voldemort should carry the blame for his death."

Severus was silent. He turned the parchment over, reading the list of names again. Hermione considered that many of the dead were people Severus might have considered acquaintances… even friends… a long time ago. She wondered how many of them had truly enjoyed the things they had done in Voldemort's name… and whether there were those, like Severus, who realised the monumental mistake they had made in joining his ranks, but unlike Severus, had been unable to break free.

Hermione watched as Severus' thumb brushed lightly across Draco's name on the page as he turned it over again.

She sighed and stepped forward, meaning to take the parchment from his hands, if only to stop him dwelling on the photograph for any longer; it wouldn't help.

Her sudden movement seemed to startle Severus, though, and the parchment slipped through his fingers before she could reach him, falling towards the floor. As if in slow motion, Hermione watched it fall… then, caught in a swirl of warm air from the hearth, it veered towards the fire and landed amidst the leaping flames.

The edge of the parchment was already on fire as Severus let out a strangled curse and tried to retrieve it. By reflex, he reached out with his right hand to pull the parchment from the flames, but the sling impaired the movement, and in the split second delay it took for him to realise his mistake and fling out his left hand instead, the page went up in a small _whuff_ of blue flame, the flammable potion used to bring the wizarding photograph to life fuelling the fire.

Spinning away from the fireplace with a harsh snarl, he wrestled with the sling until he managed to tear his arm from its confines, rip it from around his neck and hurl the material across the room. Hermione knew it had been frustrating him the last few days anyway; his arm was all but healed, but the elbow joint still ached after a few hours of being left unsupported, so he had persisted in wearing it until now.

Staggering forward almost drunkenly, he only stopped when he reached the window, bracing himself against the glass and breathing heavily.

Shaken, Hermione turned her eyes to the fire, noticing a small, charred corner of the parchment had fluttered out of the fire and onto the hearth bricks. Unbidden, an image came to her of a pile of charred bodies lying in a dank stone vault. She pushed the thought aside and looked to Severus again.

As she watched, his palms, laid flat on the glass, clenched into fists, and he drew his right one back, heaving it against the window with a dull thud. The unbreakable glass didn't yield, and a second thud reverberated as he hit it again.

"Severus, don't–" She started forwards, but then something made her stop, made her stand back and let him expel his frustration. Perhaps this was what he needed… to let go.

He continued pounding the glass, alternating hands now; each blow became less forceful, more futile, as both his strength and willpower waned. Hermione couldn't see his face, hidden behind a curtain of hair with his head bowed forwards, but his shoulders were heaving every time he paused between blows.

Finally, any remaining strength Severus may have been clinging to disappeared; he dropped his hands and turned, slumping against the window as he slid down the glass, coming to rest in a heap on the cold, stone floor.

Hermione took a deep, shaky breath and blinked to clear her eyes of the tears that watching him finally self-destruct had brought forth. Crossing the space between them, she knelt beside him and pulled him against her. Leaning into her embrace with something between a sigh and a sob, he let her hold him. After a time, his arms came around her waist and his head drooped to rest on her shoulder, his breath warm on her neck. Every so often, a shudder ran through his body.

She didn't know what to say, so she simply held him, one hand tangling through his hair as she made quiet, soothing sounds.

Hermione had no idea how long they sat there; her back was aching and her legs were numb with the seeping cold from the stone floor. After kneeling for some time, she had shifted to sit beside him instead, leaning against the window. He hadn't spoken a word, and Hermione didn't know whether he had fallen asleep or was simply too exhausted to speak or move… too world-weary to care anymore.

When she thought she could stand the silence no longer, she shifted again, raising one arm to lightly touch his cheek.

"Severus?" she prompted softly.

He murmured something unintelligible in response, but as she pushed his hair back from where it was obscuring his face, she saw he was indeed awake, eyes open and staring blankly ahead.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, the words quiet on a soft exhalation of breath.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she replied. In a way, though it had been hard to watch, she was glad he had finally broken down. Perhaps now, with the pent-up emotion and frustration finally expelled, he would be able to move on. "I'm just worried about you, that's all. You've been so… withdrawn ever since we came back here. It's almost like…" She hesitated, wondering if what she was about to say would see his temper flare again. Deciding to risk it, she squeezed his arm gently and murmured, "It's almost like part of you died out there on the field… like part of you died out there with Draco."

He turned his head away, but not before Hermione saw a single tear slip from the corner of his eye. Heartened, rather than dismayed, that his stoic countenance was cracking even further, she continued on.

"You're trying to bury it all within yourself when what you need to do is let go. Not forget… just let go. There's a difference, you know."

He still didn't speak, but he appeared at least to be listening.

"No one expects you to suddenly forget the last twenty years of your life and throw yourself into this– this new world… especially not after the way things ended. It will take time to heal, Severus, and I don't just mean this." She nudged his arm gently, then raised her hand and rested it on the soft cotton of his shirt, just above his heart, whispering, "I mean this, too."

Hermione saw him swallow; she could feel his heart thudding beneath her palm, belying his outward calm.

"I know you're trying to pretend everything is all right, that you've healed, but we both know you haven't," she continued. "Not physically and not emotionally. You nearly died, Severus. Surviving the Killing Curse doesn't mean to say you're invincible. It was sheer dumb luck."

"You really believe that?"

She rubbed her hand tiredly across her eyes.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," she said quietly.

He was silent, and on impulse, she unhooked the top button of his shirt, revealing the small rune-shaped scar over his breastbone. She pressed her palm over the mark, and he raised his own hand to cover hers.

"It's just that I feel suddenly… out of place," he said, struggling to find the right words. "Everyone is overjoyed that Voldemort is dead and the war is over – and well they should be. I just can't bring myself to be in much of a celebratory mood."

"That's understandable," Hermione said gently. "God knows you've been through far more than most of us could even comprehend where Voldemort is concerned."

"Then shouldn't I be even _more_ happy than most?" he questioned, dropping his hand again. "I'm not, though. I'm frustrated and angry with myself and those around me."

"Not you," he added quickly, as if sensing the question burgeoning in her mind. "I feel helpless because I cannot do anything for Draco; I couldn't save his life, but I thought I could ensure him some small modicum of dignity in death. Even that has been taken from my hands, though."

"You can hardly blame yourself when it's out of your hands," she said. "It's a terrible thing that he has been counted as one of them, Severus, but as much as you hate it – and _I_ hate it, too – there's nothing we can do… and that's what letting go is about."

"It sounds a lot like forgetting," he commented, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the glass again.

"No," she insisted. "Letting go is allowing yourself to move on; giving up blame – misplaced or otherwise – and recognising that some things cannot be changed. Think of the people we've lost – yes – but don't _dwell_ on them always. _Everyone_ has lost someone, somewhere along the way. I know it's not even been a week… maybe I'm being ungrateful, but I'm just sick of being worried and scared. I have no idea what to do now, because before the end of the war, I was afraid to even contemplate life beyond it. Now, I have to. We _all_ have to, for our own sakes and for those who can't. We're the lucky ones, Severus… we survived… and perhaps the best thing we can do to honour the memory of those who didn't is live enough for them _and_ us."

He stared at her wordlessly, dark eyes as bright as she knew hers must be. Holding his gaze, she rose to her feet, knees cracking after sitting on the cold floor for so long, and extended her hand to him.

"Isn't that what they'd want?" she prompted quietly.

Finally, he nodded. Taking her hand and letting her pull him to his feet, he surprised her by embracing her again, fiercely this time, his breath warm on the top of her head. Drawing back briefly, he tilted her head up and leant towards her again. She thought for a moment he was going to kiss her, but then he bowed his forehead to rest against her own.

"Thank you, Hermione," he whispered. His breath smelled vaguely of Firewhisky, and the roast beef they'd eaten for dinner in the Great Hall, hours before.

"For what?" she asked.

"For being here. For allowing me to knock some sense into myself." One of his hands brushed hers as he flexed his fingers, and she heard his knuckles crack. "Most of all, though," he continued, tilting his head so his lips brushed hers as he spoke, "thank you for reminding me there is still so much to live for."

He did kiss her, then, a slow, deep kiss during which neither time nor the outside world seemed to matter any more. Everything faded from Hermione's mind but the feel of Severus' lips on hers, his hands splayed across her back and his strong body and steady heartbeat against her chest.

Breathless minutes later, she drew back, catching his hand in hers as it slid from around her waist. Examining his knuckles, she saw they were already darkening with bruises from his assault on the window, and a glance at his other hand revealed the same.

"We should put something on these," she murmured.

"No, leave it," he said, shaking his head. At her questioning look, he added, "It will remind me not to do it again."

She smiled lightly, continuing to rub his hands. A glance up at his face shows his eyes half-closed, enjoying the simple touch. His lips were slightly swollen from her kisses, and the sight brought forth a deep longing within her to be as close to him as possible tonight.

"Come on, Severus," she said finally, backing towards the bedroom and tugging his hand gently to follow. "Let's go to bed. Tomorrow's a new day."

He let out a tired chuckle, but allowed her to lead him into the bedroom, halting beside the bed. He tried and failed to stifle a yawn, and she felt a wave of disappointment that he might be too tired for anything more tonight… followed by a pang of guilt at the selfish thought.

Decided to give him as much as she could, even if he wasn't able to offer much in return tonight, she reached for the top button of his shirt. He made no move to stop her, and she set about undressing him slowly and carefully, kissing and stroking each newly-exposed patch of skin as she went. He was silent, his dark eyes following her every move. When she drew his grey trunks down his legs, her fingertips tracing his thighs and hipbones, he let out a half-sigh, half-moan. Hermione smiled to herself and guided him back towards the bed.

Once he was reclining back on the pillows, Hermione quickly slipped out of her clothes and joined him, pulling the duvet up around them both.

Severus rolled onto his side to face her. Tilting her head up slightly where it lay on the pillow, she stared into his eyes, and he simply stared back.

"What?" he finally asked.

"I'm just glad we're here – together," she whispered, a louder voice seeming inappropriate in the stillness of the room. Though they'd shared his bed every night since he had been released from St Mungo's, they hadn't really been together in the true sense of the word. He had been so closed off until tonight… for all she'd slept beside him, there might has well have been a wall between them.

Now, that was gone.

A faint smile flitted across his lips, and he reached up to cup her cheek in one hand. Moving closer, he captured her lips with his again, the soft kiss quickly deepening into something more. Pressing herself up against his body, a jolt of desire shot through her. Maybe she had been mistaken in thinking he was exhausted… maybe this was what he needed.

She drew back for a moment, wondering if it was right to encourage him after what had been such an emotional evening already. Sensing her uncertainty, Severus hesitated, too, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Hermione?" he questioned. "Is this all right?"

"Of course," she said. "I just don't want you to think I- that everything I said before was just trying to lead you to this. I meant what I said about being worried for you."

Letting out a soft sigh, he regarded her for a moment before he said, "Do you want the truth?"

She nodded, half-curious and half-afraid of what his answer would be.

Lying down again, he nudged her to turn away, then wrapped one arm just below her breasts, pulling her back against him and tracing the soft flesh with his long fingers. His other hand rested further down, tracing random patterns on her stomach, and she resisted the urge to wriggle back against him. It seemed his desire to talk had finally resurfaced, and who was she to deny him after his week of near-silence? Other pleasantries could wait. When they were settled, he spoke, his breath stirring the hair tucked behind her ear.

"The truth is, it's the future, not the past, that's more the source of my… discomfort, I suppose you could say. You say you haven't thought beyond the end of the war… but you're young, Hermione – you have your whole life ahead of you. I'm older, but my own choices have seen to it that I've never really had a chance to live… I don't think I'd know how to."

"Then we can learn together."

Perhaps she imagined it, but she fancied she felt his heartbeat quicken against her back. He didn't answer, though.

"You doubt me?" she asked. Taking his hand from her stomach, she brought it up to where the chain bearing his ring still hung around her neck. Pressing his hand over the object, she whispered, "I'm still wearing this, aren't I?"

"That you are," he finally said, turning it over between his fingers, then dropping it again. It slid around the chain and rested on the sheets beside her shoulder. There was a hint of mild surprise or uncertainty in his tone that gave Hermione the urge to reassure him again.

"Of course," she said. "I won't take it off unless you ask me to."

It seemed he was about to speak, but then she felt him shake his head as if to clear his thoughts. Hermione considered adding she would take it from around her neck to wear it on her finger, instead… but something made her stop. If she spoke such words with a hint of mirth, he might think she wasn't serious… and if she spoke them seriously without knowing how _he_ felt about the matter… No, he would be the one to broach that subject when the time came.

For now, it was enough that they were here.

"I've missed this," he murmured, burying his head in the riot of curls around her head. Then, brushing the hair aside, he began a slow trail of kisses across her back, shoulder, and down her arm. The hand that had been resting beneath her breasts now moved up over them, and she gasped softly, arching back into him.

The hint of a chuckle broke from him, rumbling through his chest, and he moved his other hand down between her legs, brushing her inner thighs teasingly as she groaned in frustration.

He made her wait for the touch she truly wanted, drawing out the sensations and keeping her perilously close to that delightful point of no return. She managed to reciprocate in kind, though, and delighted in her ability to make him gasp and moan with even the lightest touch of her fingers, the smallest movement of her hips.

Coming down from a wave of heady pleasure, Hermione watched his face as he moved over her, taking in every details… the beads of sweat across his forehead, the strength of his wiry arms as he took care not to crush her, and his eyes, deep and dark yet full of fire. His face contorted almost as if in pain, and Hermione realised he was seeking more than just physical release through their love-making tonight.

His whole body shuddered as he neared his peak, and a harsh cry spilling from his mouth signalled his release; he dropped to his elbows, his head dropping to the pillow beside Hermione's.

When his arms could no longer support him, he rolled sideways, collapsing half-beside Hermione and half-across her in a tangle of limbs. Their breathing slowed in unison, his racing heart slowing to a steady beat where his chest rested against her shoulder.

They lay together in a tangle of limbs and slick skin, and Hermione's eyes drifted closed contentedly. Severus' head was buried in her hair again, breath warm on her neck.

Even close to the height of summer, there was still a slight chill about the castle, and Hermione shivered as the cool night air brushed over her skin. Her wand wasn't anywhere within reach, but she managed to _Accio_ the duvet from down near their feet and pull it up to cover them. Shifting slightly, Severus moved his hand over her stomach, and she heard him murmur something quietly; the slight tingle through her nether regions gave away the contraceptive charm.

Part of her wished he wasn't so rational as to have remembered… but she brushed the thought off, blaming it on the confusing mixture of emotions playing havoc on her mind in the last few hours.

"Thank you, Hermione." His whispered words drew her from her thoughts, and she turned her head sideways to see him watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Anytime," she returned with a smile.

Later that night, Hermione lay awake long after Severus had fallen asleep, thinking on all that had come to pass. For the first night since the end of the war, she was free of at least one of her worries – her worry for Severus and his state of mind and body. She'd finally broken through to him tonight, and while she didn't expect things to change right away, she recognised this as the first step towards really and truly healing and moving forwards.

Their inability to give Draco a proper farewell would linger in Severus' mind for a long time; Hermione knew better than to think he would give up on that just yet. She made a mental note to ask Harry whether he might try to speak with the Ministry about it. Surely, if anyone could sway their decision now, it would be him.

She wondered what would happen in the coming days, weeks and months; the graduation ceremony was scheduled to be held at the end of the week, and the Headmaster would undoubtedly want to hold the celebration as scheduled. There would inevitably be some sort of official ceremony arranged by the Ministry to mark the end of the war, too.

Hermione had no idea how long she might stay at Hogwarts for… or how long she and the other ex-students would be welcome there. Until the ceremony next week, it seemed pointless to leave, and they were all still wary of the wizarding press, often seen lurking around just outside the school grounds. Hermione had no desire to face awkward questions about the war, her friends, and especially – after Rita Skeeter's article – about Severus.

Her mind drawn back to Severus, she shifted onto her side, curling closer to him. He murmured a soft noise but didn't wake, and Hermione took a moment to regard him; the curtains across the room were half-open, and in the light of the thin, white moon, Severus' face seemed almost to glow.

Watching him sleep, she wondered how long _he_ would stay at Hogwarts, now that the need for him to remain was gone. If he decided to continue teaching, Hermione had no idea where he might go for the remainder of the summer. She knew the teachers didn't remain at the school, but it startled her to realise she didn't know where Severus spent his time outside the walls of Hogwarts. There was his house on the Southern outskirts of London – the one he'd taken her and her parents to at Christmas when it had been doubling as an Order safehouse… but he'd said back then he had hardly spent more than three weeks there in the last twenty years.

If he didn't return to teaching the following September, Hermione tried to think of what he might do instead. Potions research was the obvious choice, of course, but outside Hogwarts, Hermione knew of only the Ministry having resources to fund any significant projects, and somehow Hermione couldn't imagine Severus working for them.

Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly. She didn't even know what _she_ would be doing beyond the next few weeks. Any thoughts of the future had been put on hold until Voldemort had been defeated… and since that time, her thoughts had been on immediate concerns.

Raising a hand to trace his jawline with a single finger, the first hint of stubble pricking lightly, Hermione could only hope wherever both of their lives led them, it would be in similar directions, so they could be together. Leaning up, she kissed him lightly on the corner of his lips, then settled back beside him and eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was awakened early by an insistent _tap, tap, tap_ coming from the sitting room. Glancing over at Severus, who had rolled away from her some time during the night, she saw he was still fast asleep and snoring lightly. The noise grew louder, and Hermione rolled out of bed with a sigh, retrieving her robe and wrapping it quickly around her as she made her way out into the other room.

Stifling a yawn, she discovered the source of the tapping was Snape's owl, fluttering outside the window, carrying a wad of letters and squawking indignantly to be let in as she tapped the window with her beak.

"All right, calm down," Hermione said, though she doubted the bird could hear her through the glass. Frowning as she tried to recall which glass panel would open to admit the owl, she tried two before she finally found the right one. The panel of glass vanished and Tonatiuh swooped into the room, dropping the letters on Severus' desk and alighting on her perch nearby.

A gust of cool morning air swept into the room before the glass reappeared, and Hermione crossed to the desk, rummaging in the top drawer where she knew Severus kept a handful of Owl Treats. After feeding a few to Tonatiuh and scratching the bird's head for a moment, Hermione's eyes drifted back to the pile of letters, and she was surprised to see that the topmost one was addressed to her.

She undid the string holding the bundle together and picked her letter up, turning the others over to see whether any more were meant for her. They all seemed to carry Severus' name, until she reached the bottom of the pile and found another addressed to her. It bore an official-looking Ministry wax seal, and flipping back through the other envelopes, Hermione saw Severus had one the same.

Sitting down at the desk, Hermione examined her other letter more carefully. The return address was accompanied by the St Mungo's insignia, and there was a small lump in one corner of the envelope.

In a flash of recognition, she realised what it was and tore open the envelope; upending it, the chain and distorted rune fell out on the desk, along with a folded piece of parchment. It looked no different from when Hermione had handed it over to Healer Derwent over a week ago, and it was icy cold to her touch as she picked it up.

Clasping it tightly in one hand, she reached for the parchment and unfolded it, reading the short, handwritten note within.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_As promised, I am returning the token you so kindly lent to my colleagues and I. You were right in thinking further investigation of the necklace revealed nothing unusual in its composition, and the lingering traces of the curse it absorbed have faded almost to the point of being undetectable._

_We can find no explanation for the protection it afforded Mr Snape, and I can only think to add it to the list of wondrous and unexplainable things I have witnessed in my fifty years as a Healer at this hospital._

_I do hope this finds both of you well, and bid you keep the token (unwearable as it may be) as a reminder of how fortunate you and yours have been._

_Best regards for the future,_

_Esmé Derwent_

_Healer-in-Charge_

_Spell Damage (short-term)_

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries 

Folding the parchment and setting it back on the desk, Hermione rose to her feet and turned to the window again. Opening her hand, she examined the twisted metal in the pale morning light, brushing the pad of her thumb along its smooth edge. One of the tiny crystals that had been inlaid in the downstroke of the rune was still visible, partially covered where the molten metal had swallowed it.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't realise Severus had come out of the bedroom until a pair of arms suddenly came around her from behind. She shrieked softly in surprise as he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder where the hastily donned robe had slipped down.

"Good morning," he said, voice low and still husky with sleep.

"Yes, it is," she replied, turning around as he dropped his arms and trailing her eyes appreciatively over his bare chest and down to the waistband of his sleep pant. He must have pulled them on before exiting the bedroom, she thought amusedly, because he certainly hadn't slept in them… not the previous night, anyway. Unaware of her scrutiny, his eyes fell on the pendant in her hand and a look of mild surprise crossed his face; he reached out for it, his eyes meeting hers in askance.

Handing it to him, Hermione watched as he examined it, turning the piece of metal over and over in his palm. After a minute, she silently handed him the note from the Healer as well. His eyes traced down over the words, and then he set it aside, holding the pendant out for her to take it again.

"What are you going to do with it?" he asked, their fingers brushing as she accepted it from him.

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "I can hardly wear it, but I don't fancy parting with it all the same. Besides, I did give it to you, if you recall."

"_Loaned_ it to me," he corrected, eyes drifting to the pile of letters on the desk. Flipping through them, he stopped when he came to the one bearing the Ministry seal, adding, "And I hope you don't expect _me_ to wear it again, after what happened last time I did."

"What happened was it saved your _life_, Severus," she said sharply, annoyed by his nonchalance.

The biting tone rang out in clear in her voice, and he sighed and took her by the shoulders, his hands warm through her robe.

"Forgive me," he said, his dark eyes sincere as she looked up at him. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful… but it's still yours, from your parents. The decision of what to do with it now rests with you."

She nodded, and a sudden idea occurred to her. Searching the pockets of her robe for her wand, she put the pendant down and picked up the parchment note. After reading it one more time, she set about Transfiguring it. Severus watched interestedly as the parchment darkened, changing into a small, dark-wooded box.

Satisfied, Hermione set her wand down on the desk, she flipped the lid of the box, and retrieved the pendant, dropping it inside.

"There," she said quietly, putting the box on his desk. "For safe-keeping."

He nodded, but picked up the box and crossed the room with it, stopping in front of the glass-fronted cabinet at the other end of the bookshelves. Aside from bottles of liquor on the lower shelf, she knew most of the other things in the cabinet were of some significance to him… his Pensieve, for one.

Placing it on the top-most shelf, he closed the cabinet and turned back to face her, echoing her own words, "For safe-keeping."

Hermione turned her attention to her other letter, while Snape moved back towards the window to greet his owl. Tonatiuh hooted softly at her master's approach, dipping her head to nuzzle his palm as he reached up to touch her.

Smiling softly to herself, Hermione curled up in a corner of the couch and studied the Ministry seal on the envelope in her hands. Looking at it, a niggle of worry crept into her mind for what it might say. Why would the Ministry be sending her a missive?

Biting her lip, she cracked the wax seal and drew the parchment from the envelope.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_The Ministry of Magic wishes to inform you of its decision to award you the Order of Merlin (class to be determined) for your role in the defeat of He-Who-Can-Now-Be-Named, Tom Riddle, and_ _your valuable contribution to the war effort over an extended period._

_A presentation ceremony will be held in the near future to formally present awards to all those recognised for their contributions to the war._

_Congratulations and thank you. The Ministry of Magic and wizarding world as a whole owe you a debt that cannot be repaid._

_Regards,_

_Rufus Scrimgeour_

_Minister for Magic_

She read it again, eyes widening as she realised she hadn't imagined the words; they were actually there in front of her.

There was a sharp intake of breath from across the room, and Hermione saw Severus had his own missive from the Ministry in his hands; he was unnaturally still as his eyes moved back and forth across the parchment, and then he lowered himself into the chair behind his desk and let out a deep breath, rubbing his face with his free hand.

"You're getting one, too?" she asked softly.

Looking up, his eyes locked on the identical parchment in her hand. Nodding, he laughed softly, a hint of bitterness amidst the amusement.

"I used to think I deserved one of these," he said darkly, pushing the parchment away from him across the desk and resting his head in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled. "Now it's the last thing I want from them."

Tucking her own letter back in the envelope and setting it aside, Hermione returned to Severus' side and perched up on the corner of the desk, facing him.

"You _do_ deserve this, Severus," she said. "I know it's not what you'd want from the Ministry, if it was up to you… but it's deserved nonetheless."

"No more so than yours," he returned, leaning back in his chair and regarding her with a glimmer in his eyes. "And Order of Merlin at eighteen; not many can boast _that_ honour."

"Harry's only seventeen," she murmured. It was unthinkable she would be so graciously rewarded without Harry receiving the same honour… though he deserved far more than a medal. Thinking of all the other Order members who had been at Godric's Hollow, she wondered aloud whether they, too, would receive honours from the Ministry.

"I daresay they deserve it," Severus said thoughtfully. "However, the Ministry does not give out the Order of Merlin lightly. If I recall correctly, there haven't been more than a dozen bestowed in the past decade."

"They seem to be handing out a fair few now," she said. "If _I've_ got one, Ron must have one, and I'd feel awful accepting one myself if Professors McGonagall and Lupin didn't receive one each… not to mention everyone else in the Order. They've been a part of this far longer than I have, and done far more."

"You've done more than you know, Hermione," he said.

"And you've done more than you're willing to give yourself credit for," she said, hopping down from her place on his desk and pressing her hand to his lips when he made to speak again, anticipating his disagreement with her statement. Frowning in mock seriousness, she added, "No arguments."

He raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips to kiss her fingers, and she pulled away, laughing softly. Leaving him to read the rest of his mail in peace, she re-entered the bedroom, retrieved her clothes, and went on into the bathroom to take a shower.

She couldn't help thinking that things were looking up already.

* * *

Hermione spent the better part of the weekend with Harry and Ron, only seeing Severus at mealtimes in the Great Hall and at night when she returned to his quarters to sleep.

She had been both relieved and delighted to learn Harry and Ron had also received letters from the Ministry on Saturday morning, and Charlie, as the head of the Weasley family now, had also received a letter bidding him to accept honours on behalf of his parents and late brothers.

Strolling around the mostly deserted corridors of the upper castle or lounging out on the lawns near the lake, it was like an enormous weight had suddenly been lifted from all of their shoulders. Harry's eyes were brighter than they'd been in a long time as they discussed the future. He'd been accepted into the Auror training program – something he'd wanted since careers counselling in their fifth year – without having his NEWT results; the Ministry wanted the Boy-Who-Lived working for them no matter what his exam scores had been.

Ron was looking forward to leaving Hogwarts and making his way out into the wider world. During the first few days after the battle, Ron had spent some time talking to Lee Jordan, best friend of his twin brothers. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley had been closed since Beltane Eve, and Lee expressed an interest in getting the store going again in remembrance of his friends. The idea inspired Ron, and the notion of continuing his brothers' work seemed to give him a new purpose.

While happy for her friends, Hermione purposely made sure the conversation didn't turn to her own immediate future. She needed some time to think on where her life was headed… where she wanted her life to go.

All she knew at the moment was, as much as she had enjoyed her time at Hogwarts, she was becoming more anxious to leave with each passing day. That said, there were certain things – certain _people_ – she didn't want to leave behind.

And that was the source of her uncertainty.

She didn't know Severus' plans… or whether those plans included her. She hoped they did, but she couldn't be sure; she'd learnt better than to second-guess someone like Severus Snape, and until she'd had a serious talk with him about where they were headed, she wouldn't make plans of her own.

During lunch in the Great Hall on Saturday, Dumbledore had announced that the graduation ceremony would be held as planned the following Friday, but it would be combined with another presentation – the Order of Merlin ceremony for those honoured for their contributions to the war. Since many of those who were to receive awards were still staying at Hogwarts – and three in particular were also graduating from the school – it made sense for the celebrations to be combined.

On Monday morning, Hermione woke early but found the other side of the bed empty. Severus was nowhere to be found, and upon further inspection, Hermione realised his cloak was gone from its almost-permanent place on the back of the bedroom door. She wandered down to the Great Hall for breakfast, hoping to see him before he left for wherever he was going, but there was no sign of him there either.

Hermione sat down alone and nibbled half-heartedly on a piece of toast with jam, her mind elsewhere.

Severus had seemed preoccupied the past few days, now she thought about it… not the despairing numbness he had exhibited before, but a different sort of preoccupation; he seemed to be deep in thought, and she'd often caught him watching her with a strange, unreadable expression on his face. Hermione wondered whether he was annoyed she had spent the better part of the weekend away from him; she had only seen him at mealtimes and when she returned to his quarters at night. He had seemed agreeable enough to her spending time with Harry and Ron when she had put forward the suggestion on Saturday morning… and with that thought, she wondered if it was the time spent away from him that was bothering him… or had she not been away long enough? Maybe he had enjoyed his solitude more than he was willing to admit to her… hence his seemingly distant mood.

Hermione's worry grew when he hadn't returned by lunch, and she stopped the Headmaster on the way out of the Great Hall, enquiring whether he knew of Severus' whereabouts.

"He's gone to London to attend to some business," Dumbledore said, surprise that she hadn't know evident in his tone. "I do believe he said it wouldn't take long."

"Oh, okay," Hermione murmured. "Thank you, sir."

She managed to occupy herself for the rest of the afternoon, but in the back of her mind she was wondering just what _business_ Severus was attending to in London.

* * *

Apparating back to the Hogwarts gates just after four o'clock, Severus breathed a sigh of relief that there was no longer a group of reporters lurking about the great iron gates, hankering after any sight of those who had been labelled war heroes by the wizarding public.

Severus snorted at the irony of being included amongst them; if only the wider community knew _all_ the things he had done… he should be thankful they didn't.

What had started that morning as a simple trip to three destinations in London had taken much longer than anticipated thanks to the _Daily Prophet_. It seemed there wasn't a witch or wizard who didn't recognise him, nor were there any he spoke to who didn't ask after Hermione with a trace of curiosity, amusement or – in one case – contempt in their eyes.

A witch had stopped him in a corridor at the Ministry of Magic, gushing about how the wizarding world was as indebted to him as it was to Potter, and enquired as to when there would be a public announcement of his engagement to Hermione.

The nosey woman had been so affronted when he had told her in no uncertain terms to mind her own business, she had done an immediate about-face and snapped, "I knew that article was a complete and utter lie. All your former students still think you're a heartless bastard, and here's the proof! Hermione Granger must have lost her mind."

"I'll be sure to give her your _expert_ opinion," he had snapped, stalking off before the witch could respond.

By the time he returned to Hogwarts, he was beginning to wish he'd had either Potter's Invisibility Cloak or a flask of Polyjuice Potion for the journey. He had a splitting headache, and he trudged back up the path to the castle with a deep scowl on his face.

He passed Ginny Weasley in the Entrance Hall, and the young girl who usually greeted him with a polite acknowledgment and a smile gave him a wide berth upon seeing his dark expression. He ignored her and continued on up to the first floor. Finally reaching his quarters, he shut the door forcefully behind him and let out a heavy sigh.

"Long day?"

Hermione was curled up in one corner of the couch, book in her lap, watching him curiously.

"I will hex the next person who mentions your name and mine in the same sentence," he groused, shrugging out of his cloak. Withdrawing a small package from one of the cloak's pockets, he tossed the garment aside, set the package on the coffee table and sat down tiredly beside her. "Have they no respect for privacy?"

"No," she said simply, and he snorted derisively.

Closing her book and setting it aside, she turned slightly to face him.

"So, where did you go?"

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He considered getting up to retrieve a headache potion as he answered, "London."

"I know that. Professor Dumbledore told me when I couldn't find you after lunch."

He opened his eyes, sensing an accusatory undertone in her voice.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going?" she persisted, frowning at him.

"You were still asleep when I left," he said. "I didn't want to wake you."

"Right." She looked away. "So you just woke up at six o'clock this morning and thought, 'Hmm, I might go to London today'. Hardly, Severus."

"No, I've been meaning to go for a few days, but must I have your permission?" he snapped.

Hermione's expression turned from one of annoyance to hurt, and he immediately regretted his harsh tone. She had every right to know where he had gone – it was the other idiots, plaguing him ceaselessly all day, who had no right to ask.

"I'm sorry," he said, picking her hand up and squeezing it lightly for a moment. "It's just been a long, frustrating day."

"I can imagine," she murmured in a small voice. "I just meant… I don't have to know everything you're doing, but… it would have been nice if you could have left me a note or something, saying you'd be back later. You were just gone."

"And I apologise for that. I didn't think my errands would take quite so long."

He didn't elaborate further. Some of his business in London he wouldn't discuss with her yet; there were many things to be considered before a decision was made. He could feel her watching him, though, wondering what errands he was speaking of, and sure enough, after only a moment of silence, Hermione spoke again.

"So am I allowed to ask what you were doing in London?"

He nodded his head towards the small package on the table. This he could tell her about.

"For you," he said.

Her eyes widened and she reached out to pick it up, turning the paper-wrapped object over in her hands. When she looked up again, her expression was contrite.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "Here I was thinking… I don't know _what_ I was thinking about why you'd gone… and you were buying something for me."

"Not exactly buying." He chuckled at her confused expression, and added, "Open it."

A minute later, Hermione looked up at him confusedly, the tiny, Muggle-made statue of an owl sitting her palm.

"It's a cross-Channel Portkey," he explained. "I thought you might like to visit your parents."

Her eyes widened and an expression of surprise and delight crossed her face… but then she seemed to falter, biting her lip. Her eyes had brightened with happiness… but then they become worried… _wary_, even.

"I thought you'd be anxious to see them after all this time," he said, slightly disappointed. He thought she would be overjoyed; it had been almost six months since the last time she'd seen them, and although she wrote often and was used to not seeing them for months at a time, Severus knew it bothered her they were that much further away now.

"I am, but I–" She looked up at him searchingly, then shook her head and simply repeated, "I am. Thank you."

He cleared his throat and stood up, realising the words were all the thanks she was willing to give him. "It's set for five o'clock this afternoon, so I suggest you gather whatever you wish to take."

Glancing at the clock on the mantle, which read twenty minutes to the hour, Hermione jumped up and headed quickly for the bedroom. At the doorway, she stopped and turned.

"You're not coming with me?"

He shook his head, and Hermione crossed back to him more slowly, a trace of uncertainty still on her face.

"You _can_ come with me… if you want to," she said, looking up at him hopefully.

"Not now," he said. "I think you need some time with your parents."

Nodding, though she still didn't look entirely convinced, she asked, "Will it bring me back as well?"

"Yes," he said. "There is no set time on the return journey. You may come back whenever you choose."

She smiled at that, and embraced him briefly, whispering, "Thank you," against his chest as she rested her head there for a moment. He raised his own hand to the back of her head, holding her against him for a beat longer.

Reluctantly pulling away, he said, "Go on, get your things together or you'll miss the Portkey."

Waiting in the sitting room, an idea occurred to him, and when she emerged with a shrunken bag in one hand, he pressed the small wooden box containing the remains of the rune necklace into her other hand, closing her fingers around it.

When she opened her mouth, he forestalled her question, saying, "They'll wonder why you're not wearing it."

"True," she murmured in agreement, tucking the box into a pocket of her cloak.

Handing her the Portkey, he glanced at the clock. One minute to go.

"Are you sure you won't come?" she asked again.

Shaking his head, Severus took her face gently in his hands and kissed her lips softly.

"I'll see you soon," he murmured, stepping away as the clock on the mantle began to strike the hour.

"Severus?"

They locked eyes, and after a slight pause, she said softly, "I love you."

An increasingly familiar, dull ache settled in his chest, and he smiled down at her, resisting the urge to reach out to her again; the Portkey would activate any time now.

"I know you do," he replied quietly.

That same look of uncertainty or worry came onto her face again, and he wondered whether his response – his failure to return the sentiment in kind – was the source of her concern this time. He opened his mouth to speak again, but at that moment the Portkey activated and Hermione vanished.

Sighing, he wandered over to his desk and sat down, pondering her confusing reaction to what he thought would have been a much-appreciated gift.

Aside from knowing how much she wanted to see her parents, he had thought a few days apart would probably be good for both of them. He wasn't sure when she would return, and he would certainly miss her, but he had many things to consider while she was away. She had finally managed to convince him in the last few days that there was indeed a life out there – beyond Hogwarts and beyond the war – and now he had to decide exactly what that life was.

* * *

To be continued…

_Author's notes: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. This chapter was supposed to be the last with the exception of an epilogue, but it looks like there will be another full chapter to follow instead. I don't want to tie every loose end in the story up… but some things do need to be addressed that I hadn't considered before, so it will take a few more words._

_Obviously, and as I've mentioned before, this story isn't HBP-compliant, but there are elements I've borrowed from HBP – Scrimgeour as the current Minister for Magic being one of them._

_Thanks to Potion Mistress for her tireless beta-reading and sharp eyes, and also to emlouise for a discussion we had last weekend which caused me to reconsider a particular part of a scene in this chapter._


	48. Not Everything Changes

_Disclaimer: Do I have to say it again? I don't own them. Never have. Never will. I'm just borrowing them, and they will be returned (albeit slightly tarnished) at the end of the next chapter_

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* * *

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Chapter 48

Hermione landed firmly on her feet amidst the long grass growing beside a low stone wall. Shading her eyes from the sun sinking towards the far horizon, the first thing she registered was the salty smell of the air and the chill of the wind whipping her hair about her face.

Glancing to her right, towards a glittering ocean and the desolate landscape that lay between, Hermione wondered where on earth Severus' Portkey had brought her. Looking to her left, across the stone wall, she breathed a sigh of relief at signs of life on the undulating hillside.

A gap in the wall marked the beginning of a cobblestone path, which wound through a rambling garden to the doorstep of a single storey, white-washed house. A climbing rose grew along the west-facing wall, its boughs laden with golden-yellow blooms, and the longest branch hung across one of the blue-shuttered windows.

The door to the house opened, and a man stepped out, retrieving a watering can from a corner of the small porch and bending to fill it at the nearby tap. Hermione stared at her father, overjoyed and uncertain all at once. Standing upright again a moment later, he turned to water the row of multi-coloured flowers lining the cobbled path.

As though sensing he was being watched, he glanced up, stilling as his eyes met Hermione's. He put the watering can down on the path and shielded his eyes with one hand from the glare of the sun.

"Hermione?"

Uncertainty disappearing, Hermione tucked the Portkey and her shrunken bag of clothes into a pocket of her cloak and walked quickly up the path. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around her father, laughing in delight as he grabbed her about the waist and swung her around.

"Dad, it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed when he finally set her down, her eyes bright with happy tears.

He grasped her shoulders, leaning back to regard her with a wide smile on his face. His eyes sparkled "Hermione, look at you – you look… so grown up!"

She rolled her eyes at her father.

"Funny, Dad. Have you forgotten I'm officially grown up these days, and more so now I've finished school!"

He chuckled, picking up the watering can again.

"That's right, my little graduand. Well, let me just do these last few plants and then we'll go and find your mother. She'll be delighted to see you. Are you staying long?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but someone else spoke first.

"Adam?" a voice called from the doorway. "Who are you talking to? Dinner's almost ready."

Hermione turned to see her mother peering out into the glare, and her face split into another grin.

"Mum, it's me!" she called, grabbing her father's hand and pulling him with her towards the house. "I hope you made extra!"

* * *

Back at Hogwarts, Severus spent the next few days weighing up his options for the future, and when a decision was finally made, putting his plan into action. Dumbledore made a half-hearted attempt to dissuade him, but in the end Severus got the feeling the old wizard knew and understood… this was something he had to do for himself… for a change.

Having seen to it that Poppy Pomfrey had all the required supplies for the remaining occupants of the Hospital Wing, Severus set about packing up the contents of his lab in preparation for his departure from Hogwarts. It was a tedious, tiring job, since most of the lab's contents couldn't be shrunken, compacted or packed using any form of magic. The manual work did give Severus time to think, though… mainly about Hermione.

He imagined she would be pleased that he was leaving Hogwarts; though they had yet to talk about it, he didn't think there was any reason _she_ would be remaining at the school. He hoped, whatever studies she chose to pursue, she would remain in the country, but if she didn't… they'd manage. Cross-continental Apparition was both taxing and potentially dangerous; International Portkeys were costly to use on a regular basis, but he had some money put aside. She was worth it.

If she came back.

She would be returning to Hogwarts at the end of the week – that was for sure; she wouldn't miss the graduation ceremony and Order of Merlin presentation… but would she return to _him_? Despite everything they had been through together and her constant reassurances, there was still a niggling doubt in the back of his mind… a worry that, once she went out into the world and saw how much life had to offer her, she would see him only as someone who would hold her back. Not intentionally… simply by virtue of who he was and what he had once been.

He worried, too, what her parents' reaction to their relationship would be. He knew they read the _Prophet_, and the picture Rita Skeeter's article painted of their relationship would hardly have been favourable from a parent's point of view. It wasn't until after she'd Portkeyed away that he remembered his ring was still hanging around her neck, and he wondered what her parents would have to say about _that_. He didn't intend for it to stay there much longer, in any case.

Lying in bed in the early hours of Wednesday morning, he found himself unable to sleep. Rolling over with a frustrated sigh, he flung his arm out across the empty expanse of bed beside him and wondered whether Hermione was asleep at her parents' house… It was strange listening to the silence of his room, so often filled with her soft breathing or words murmured in the midst of a dream. It was too quiet without her.

Turning onto his stomach again, he buried his face in her pillow, inhaling the lingering scent of the Muggle shampoo she stubbornly continued to use, despite being quite capable of making a herbal equivalent. An sudden image of her rose in his mind, and he let out a soft growl of frustration as the lower regions of his body stirred at memories of previous nights spent with her in his bed. Severus clenched the rumpled duvet in his fists, refusing to give in to his body. It was a losing battle; every time he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, it only served to increase his arousal. The cool sheets rubbing against his erection sent delicious sensations running through his body.

Turning onto his back again, Severus kicked the duvet off, exposing himself to the cool air. Closing his eyes, he propped his hands behind his head and took a series of deep, measured breaths. She'd been away not even two full nights yet; he could – he _would_ – wait for her return, how ever many days away that might still be. He growled aloud at himself; he was a grown man, not some bloody randy schoolboy!

After another hour or so of lying there, his body warring with his mind, Severus gave up on sleep. He rose and dressed, studiously ignoring his body's protests as he fastened his trousers, and returned to the lab to continue packing. The tedious manual work would take his mind of more pleasant activities for a while.

By late that afternoon, after stopping only for a hasty lunch in the Great Hall, the cupboards, workbenches and small desk all were bare, their former contents meticulously packed into five large trunks which now cluttered the far end of the room. Closing the door over behind him, Severus sat down in the sitting room, stifled a yawn and eyed the row of bookshelves along one wall.

It was astounding how much one accumulated living in the same three rooms for nigh on twenty years. At least the books could be packed using magic, though. He would only need a fraction of the time taken to clear the lab to pack up the sitting room, but he refrained from doing so just yet. He wanted to talk to Hermione _before_ she saw the contents of his life packed away ready to move.

A short time later, he was surprised to hear a knock on the door to his chambers, and even more surprised to find Potter standing outside, travelling cloak draped over one arm.

"Potter," he said suspiciously, eyeing the younger man. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit? If you're in search of Hermione, she is not–"

"I know," Potter cut him off. "I came to speak with you, actually."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Very well," he said mildly. "Come in, then. I'll not enter into a discussion where anyone and everyone can hear."

Stepping past him, Potter stopped and stood awkwardly a few paces inside the door as Severus closed it behind them and turned to regard the younger man.

"Sit," he said, not waiting for Potter to comply before he took one armchair himself.

"I went to the Ministry today," Potter began, lowering himself into the chair opposite and folding his cloak in his lap, hands gingerly smoothing the rough woollen material.

Severus snorted. Potter would have had an even more difficult time fighting his way through the curious and grateful general public than _he_ had on Monday.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," he commented. "Hermione tells me you've been offered a place in the Auror programme."

"Yeah," Potter said, pausing a moment to grin, but then he sobered quickly. "That was only part of the reason I went to the Ministry, though. Dumbledore asked me to do some things on his behalf and… Hermione asked me to see if anything can be done for- about Draco."

Severus was silent, torn between being grateful or annoyed that Hermione had taken it upon herself to try to help the all-but-lost cause.

"Is that so?" he finally managed.

"Oh, come on, Snape, don't look so surprised," Potter said, a trace of scorn in his tone. "Hermione's one of my best friends – I'd do anything for her, even if it's something _she's_ trying to do for _you_. And besides that, I may never have been friends with Malfoy, but we wouldn't have even lured Voldemort to Godric's Hollow that day without his help. It's the least I can do to see that things are done right now."

Severus stared at him. When Potter didn't elaborate immediately, he prompted, "And?"

Potter sighed and shook his head.

"Scrimgeour offered me almost anything I could possibly want – any job in the Ministry, or outside the Ministry, for that matter… money, watch wizards to keep the reporters at bay while I went about my business… anything, on the condition I leave the disposal of the Death Eaters' bodies to the Ministry and not ask about it again. I'm sorry."

The small hope that had crept into Severus' mind diminished. He should have known better than to think even the Boy-Who-Lived could sway the Ministry where Albus Dumbledore could not. It was becoming slightly easier with each passing day to think of what had happened to the young Malfoy without the overwhelming guilt taking hold, as it had done in the early days following the battle. The self-blame was still there… it always would be, no matter how much time went by or how many people tried to convince Severus that Draco's taking the Mark hadn't been in fault. But he had to accept the fact that nothing could be done now… not even so much as to give the Slytherin a proper resting place. It was a painful truth, but dwelling on it wouldn't change it; he knew that now.

Severus cleared his throat and looked away. "Well, it was commendable of you to try. I thank you for that."

Potter nodded and stood up, but as he moved towards the door to depart, he hesitated.

"There's something else."

Severus raised an eyebrow, noting the younger man's sudden look of discomfort.

"Well get on with it, Potter," he said, rising from his chair and brushing invisible dust particles from his shirt sleeve.

"Hermione," Potter said simply. "What's going to happen with the two of you now?"

Severus narrowed his eyes.

"I beg your pardon?"

If he wasn't so incensed, he would have snorted with laughter when Potter took an involuntary step backwards. As it was, he wasn't about to discuss Hermione with _anyone_ – not even one of her best friends, and certainly not with Harry bloody Potter.

"Look, I don't mean to pry," Potter began, taking another step back, "but–"

"Glad to hear it, Potter. Now there's the exit," Severus growled, the heavy oak door swinging open as he pointed to it.

"I'm going, all right, but just let me say something first."

Severus clenched his jaw in frustration, but Potter stuck his chin out defiantly. Sighing, he folded him arms and waited for the younger man to continue.

"We were talking about the future the other day – Hermione, Ron and me – talking about what we're going to be doing, where we're going… She thinks we didn't notice, but she hardly talked about her plans. You know what I think? She doesn't know what to do, because she's waiting on _you_."

Severus tried to appear bored; he refused to let on exactly how true Potter's words had rung with him, and he wondered at his wisdom in sending Hermione off to visit her parents without making his intentions clear to her. Surely she knew how he felt, though… and as for her future, did she think he would hold her back, prevent her from doing anything she wished?

Potter was still staring at him, waiting for some response or explanation. Severus cleared his throat irritably.

"Exactly what is your point, Potter?"

"My point," Potter's tone was sharp and he glared at Severus, undaunted, "is that if she doesn't mean as much to you as you obviously do to her, _tell her_, so she can get on with her life."

"And if she does?" he enquired dangerously.

Folding his arms with his cloak draped over them, Potter backed further towards the door. He looked uncomfortable with the mere thought, but there was a trace of resignation on his face as well. Had Hermione made _her_ intentions clear to her friends?

"I suppose we'll have to learn to tolerate each other," the younger man said, "because I don't intend on losing my friend."

"And I don't intend on giving her up," Severus returned. "Now get out before I change my mind and Obliviate you."

Potter had the audacity to smirk as he backed out into the corridor, and Severus slammed the door closed with a sharp word.

_Damn nosy bloody Gryffindors._

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* * *

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Upon exploring her parents' new home and its surrounds the morning after her arrival, Hermione had been uncertain what to make of it… it was so different from the bustling suburbia they had lived in back in England. The tiny settlement on the Pointe du Raz was more a cluster of closely grouped houses than a proper village, its population swelled only by day through countless tourists, who returned further inland, and to the larger towns at night; it lay on the western coast of France, high on a windswept cape overlooking miles of endless ocean. Their house was away from the main road, on the narrow track leading down to a tiny harbour.

The nearest town of any size was Audierne, half an hour's drive away, and it was there they had gone on Wednesday morning, buying groceries at the local market and drinking coffee at a tiny sidewalk café. It was a world away from the fast-paced life of two practicing dentists, and a world away from Hogwarts, too.

They hadn't started working in France, and from what Hermione could discern, they were not planning to, either. But they were planning to stay. Her mother had fallen in love with the small, cosy house overlooking the windswept coast, and her father was content pottering about the garden in between writing articles for various dental publications.

Hermione didn't know whether it was the fresh air, change of lifestyle or retirement that wrought the change, but this small, out-of-the-way place had become their home, and seeing their happiness relieved some of the guilt she still felt at having been the cause of them needing to leave England in the first place.

Over dinner on Wednesday night, her father brought up a certain article they had read in the _Daily Prophet_. Hermione had been expecting it to be a topic of conversation almost immediately upon her arrival, but it had taken two days for the issue to be raised. If they had been waiting for her to bring it up, they had grown tired of waiting; she was uncertain of what their reaction would be, and had decided to simply enjoy the time she had with them before risking an argument. She had told them everything else that had happened – all the things she had been unable to tell them previously via Owl Post, lest the communication fall into the wrong hands. She cried over the Weasleys and Draco… and they held her while she cried; she recounted her last few months of classes, her NEWTs and everything she had done in between. They learnt that she had spent a great deal of time with Severus, that he was a brilliant man and – despite the age difference – a very close friend… but anything more than that, Hermione just hadn't found a way to broach the subject until her father brought it up.

"I see that Skeeter woman hasn't stopped writing outrageous nonsense," he commented out of the blue as Hermione swallowed her last mouthful of chicken and her mother stood up to clear the dishes.

She glanced across the table at her father, trying to read the expression on his face. It wasn't angry… rather, questioning… expecting an explanation.

"She makes a living out of wild exaggeration, Dad," she said. "The real story wouldn't sell half as many papers."

"So there is some truth to it, then?" her mother asked, returning to the table with a bowl of fresh fruit – grapes, cherries, and slices of oranges.

"Most stories do have a basis in fact," Hermione said carefully, still trying to gauge her parents' reaction.

"Perhaps you'll tell _us_ the real story, then," her father suggested. "We're not interested in exaggeration."

Hermione bit her lip, picking a bunch of grapes from the bowl and pulling them off one by one.

"We don't want to know everything, darling," her mother said, "but we _are_ interested. He seemed like a good man when we met him, brief as that meeting was, and I know we spoke of you having some sort of affection for him at Christmas… It's hard to reconcile that to what we read in the _Prophet_ recently, though, exaggerated or not. From the way it was written, the whole wizarding world is expecting an announcement of marriage from the two of you!"

Hermione flushed and stared down at her plate again.

"Hermione?"

She could hear the frown in her father's voice before she looked up to see it on his face. Taking a deep breath, she reached into the neck of her t-shirt and pulled out Severus' ring on its chain.

"Hermione," her mother whispered, staring at it with a stunned expression.

"It's not what you think," she said quickly, then smiled as she echoed Severus' words from when he had given it to her. "Not yet."

Her father, too, seemed speechless, and Hermione felt a twinge of regret that she hadn't been able to discuss her relationship with Severus with her parents before. This was completely out of the blue for them.

Finally, her father cleared his throat and managed to say, "Perhaps you'd better start from the beginning."

* * *

Much later that night, Hermione was sitting beneath the large beech tree in her parents' back garden. Clasping a cup of tea in her hands, she stared out across the undulating landscape towards the twinkling lights of the small village a few miles away. Somewhere off to the left, twin headlights of a car were winding their way along the main road. If she listened carefully, Hermione could hear the distant crash of the surf, over the cliffs and far below. Besides that, the only sound was the slight breeze rustling the grass and the quiet voices of her parents inside the house. Further away in the distance was a brighter cluster of lights marking the larger town just down the coast.

She had come outside both for a moment of peace, and also to give her parents some time alone. They had taken the explanation of her relationship with Severus remarkably well… though, to be fair, she hadn't told them everything. Some things… just couldn't be put into words, let alone to one's parents.

Draining her cup of tea and setting it aside, she lay back in the soft grass, staring up through the branches and leaves to the star-filled sky. She had spent the past few hours talking about Severus, and only now, outside and alone, did she let herself acknowledge how much she was missing him. She'd been apart from him for two days, and yet it felt like a week.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the time she was spending with her parents – it had been wonderful to see them again after so long, and see the life they'd built in this foreign country, the house they'd turned into a home. But she wanted to share with him everything that had happened, walk with him around the quaint town, and laugh as he tried to explain potion-making to her father and her father tried to explain Muggle dental medicine to Severus. She fancied staying in one of the tiny bed and breakfast's, just down the coast a short distance from her parents' house, and lying with him at night, making love or simply talking quietly about what they'd done during the day and their plans for tomorrow.

The only thing that bothered her upon realisation of her need to be close to Severus was his demeanour the afternoon she'd left… he'd been preoccupied, even distant, and yet he had still held her and kissed her goodbye. The gesture of arranging the Portkey was enough in itself to show how much he cared… or had there been an ulterior motive for her trip? Was it an excuse for having some time apart without having to explain his desire for such to her?

A shadow loomed over her, drawing Hermione from her thoughts, and her mother sat down in the grass.

"All right, love?" her mother asked.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

Hermione turned her head to regard her mother. In the soft light spilling from the kitchen window, the older woman's expression was curious but also careful.

"Nothing and everything," Hermione said with a short laugh. "I've got so many things running through my head, I don't know where to begin sorting them out."

Her mother nodded understandingly, then opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it, and tried a second time.

"Hermione, it probably goes unspoken after everything you've told us, but I feel compelled to ask; do you love him?"

"Very much," she replied softly, and she felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks.

"And he loves you?"

Hermione nodded, although her mind was again drawn back to her departure and what had been said… or _not_ said, rather. She pushed that thought away quickly.

"He's quite a bit older than you," her mother said slowly. "But then again, you've always been mature for your age. I must admit your father and I were worried about you after some of the things that Skeeter woman wrote, but I suppose we should have known better than to take to heart anything she writes. It was just… well, we hadn't heard much from you, so we weren't to know what might have happened."

Hermione sighed.

"I know I didn't tell you much about anything at all in the last few months, and especially not about Severus. It was hard enough to explain tonight, in person, let alone in a letter. Don't think I wanted to keep it from you, Mum… I just… I didn't know how to tell you. Does that make sense?"

"Of course, darling," her mother said. "I just wish we'd been able to talk more in the last few years."

"Mum," she began, but stopped, uncertain of exactly what she meant to say.

"It's been hard, you being away from us so much," her mother confessed, her voice wavering a little. "Each year when you come home, we tend to forget our little girl is a year older, and now… oh, Hermione, you've grown up so much, even since Christmas. You're a young woman now; our little girl is long gone."

"Mum," Hermione said softly, sitting up and facing her mother, "I might not be a little girl any longer, but I'll always be your daughter."

They embraced each other tightly, then both lay back in the grass, talking quiet for a while longer until the breeze became too cold and they decided to retreat inside.

"What happens now?" her mother asked as they stood up. "I know you haven't received your NEWT results yet, but have you thought about what you want to do?"

"Not a lot," Hermione said. "Severus and I haven't really had a chance to talk about what he's doing, but I don't think he plans to go back to teaching, so it would be nice to know where he's going before I weigh up all my options."

Her mother laughed, and Hermione looked up at her, startled.

"Sorry, love," her mother said, still chuckling. "I never thought I'd see the day my girl put something ahead of studying. Perhaps there was some truth to that article after all."

"Mum!" Hermione smacked the older woman lightly on the arm, but she couldn't help but laugh, too. She had finally learnt in the last year that there were indeed more important things than good grades.

"I think you should talk to him soon," her mother suggested. "Who knows, he could be waiting on _you_ to make your decisions first."

"True," Hermione murmured. She hadn't considered that, but maybe her mother was right.

Having seen how happy her parents were in their new life, and having come clean to them about Severus, Hermione suddenly felt like the purpose of her visit had been accomplished. She was struck with an overwhelming desire to return to Hogwarts and work things out with Severus… to find out exactly what had been bothering him. She could always visit her parents again at a later date… maybe Severus would even consider accompanying her next time.

As if reading her thoughts, as the reached the back door of the house, Hermione's mother turned to her and said, "Will I see you for breakfast, or will you be gone by then?"

"I–" Hermione hesitated. She didn't want to offend her mother by conveying her sudden urgency to be gone, but the older woman seemed to sense it anyway.

"Talk to him," her mother said again with a smile, and she raised her hand to lightly touch the ring around Hermione's neck, still hanging outside her t-shirt. "Perhaps next time I see my little girl, she'll be wearing that on her finger."

Hermione couldn't help the grin that spread across her face at the notion, and she hugged her mother tightly again, whispering, "Thank you."

It was past midnight by the time Hermione had spoken to her father as well, gathered her things together, and bid both of her parents farewell. Severus wouldn't mind her returning at such a ridiculous hour, though… she hoped. She promised to return in the next few weeks for another visit, and to send them word by owl of both her NEWT results and 'anything else of note', as her mother said with a wink.

Standing beside the low stone wall surrounding the front garden, Portkey in one hand and her wand in the other, Hermione waved to her parents one more time, then tapped the Portkey and felt the tell-tale jerk behind her navel. France whirled away in a blinding flash of colours, and a moment later, she found herself standing at the front gates of Hogwarts.

She smiled sadly as she gazed up at the castle; it really felt like home… but not for much longer, Hermione suspected. Still, whilst Severus and her other friends were there, it was where she wanted to be.

Walking back up to the castle, Hermione slipped through the main doors and made her way to Severus' quarters, entering via the hidden corridor on the first floor out of habit rather than necessity. She didn't see anyone on her way through the castle; it was the middle of the night, but even the ghosts were nowhere to be seen.

Still, at least she didn't have to explain to anyone why she had returned in the middle of the night.

Pulling off her cloak in the sitting room and tossing it over the back of one of the armchairs, she glanced around the room, a slight frown creasing her forehead. Something was different… she couldn't work out what it was, though. Shaking her head, she made for the bedroom, trying to ignore the apprehension suddenly overtaking her joy at being back at Hogwarts. She was both eager to see Severus and worried he might have enjoyed their time apart too much.

Stopping in the doorway for a moment, Hermione took in the sight of him asleep, sprawled out on his back diagonally across the bed. The duvet was draped across his lower half, and one of the pillows from what had become her side of the bed was clutched against his side. It was a wonder her mere presence in the room hadn't woken him – he was usually such a light sleeper – but she decided to press her advantage and undressed as quietly as she could.

Perhaps all he needed was to be reminded of what he'd been missing in her absence…

With that in mind, Hermione slipped the pillow from beside him and crawled into its place, curling herself against his body. Leaning up, she brushed the side of his face with feather-light kisses. It was that touch which finally roused him.

He mumbled something as he awoke, then opened his eyes, blinking at her several times.

"Hermione?"

She smiled softly at him.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"What–" He pushed himself up on his elbows, waving his hand to light one of the wall sconces and blinking in the dim light. "What's wrong? What are you doing here?"

"N-nothing's wrong," she faltered, drawing back from him in dismay. Suddenly feeling foolish, she reached for the edge of the duvet to pull it up and cover herself.

Severus' expression became confused, and she lowered her eyes and whispered, "Does something have to be wrong for me to have come back?"

He was silent, and when she finally dared to look up again, it was to find him staring at her, slightly open-mouthed.

"Isn't it enough that I missed you?" she added.

He huffed out a sudden surprised laugh and pulled her into his arms, capturing her lips in a kiss that drove away every trace of fear that he might no longer want her. She could feel his need for her in the urgency of the kiss… as well as a stirring in the lower regions of his body. Hermione kissed him back with equal fervour, running her hands over the bare skin of his back, trying to convey without words how glad she was to be back.

When he finally broke the kiss, Severus held her against him, running one hand through the loose curls falling about her shoulders. He sighed contentedly, and Hermione heard the syllables of her name on the soft exhalation.

"I did miss you, you know," she said after a while, feeling the need to reaffirm her reason for returning in the middle of the night.

"And I, you," he murmured. "Very much."

Hermione pulled away a little and settled back beside him, reaching up to brush a strand of hair back from his face; tucking the offending piece behind his ear, she trailed her fingers along his jawline, feeling the prickling beginnings of stubble. Moving further down, she traced the fine line of the scar where his neck and shoulder met, the jutting line of his collarbone. Her fingers came to rest over the rune-shaped scar above his breastbone, and she felt him shiver involuntarily.

Continuing on silently, she ran her hand over the knife scar beneath his right ribs and the claw marks below his left. Each scar she traced was older than the one before, each another reminder of Severus' painful past.

"What are you doing, memorising all my faults?" Severus asked quietly, though his eyes has slipped closed, obviously enjoying her touch.

"Not faults," she whispered. "Reminders of how fortunate I am to have you."

Hermione heard him laugh quietly, and looked up at his face to see his eyes open again, watching her appreciatively. His expression turned pensive as she held his gaze, though he didn't seem to be entirely focussed on her. Finally growing uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she prompted him with a light nudge; he blinked and seemed to pull himself from whatever thoughts he had been lost amongst.

"Few people would call you fortunate to be in this situation with me," he said. The corners of his mouth quirked up, but Hermione saw a bitterness in the poor attempt at a smile.

"I don't care what people think, Severus," Hermione said, propping herself up on one elbow. "I told you before that people's opinion of our relationship could never change the way I feel about you, and I meant that."

"I know you meant it, Hermione," he replied. "I just don't know if you understand quite what you're letting yourself in for."

She frowned. "I don't– what do you mean?"

He sighed tiredly, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"Why don't we talk tomorrow?" he suggested. Then, realising the time, he amended, "Or later today. We're both tired now, hmm?"

Hermione sighed as well, but nodded, understanding the logic of his suggestion. It wasn't just a random chat they needed to have, but a serious discussion about both of their futures… Hermione only hoped his opinion on those futures aligned with her own.

Severus turned his head away and closed his eyes, and Hermione settled back down beside him. It wasn't long before she fell asleep.

* * *

Severus awoke early on Thursday morning, rolling over only to find the other side of the bed empty. If it wasn't for the rumpled duvet and the warmth where Hermione had lain, he would have thought he'd imagined her return in the early hours of the morning. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he sat there for a moment, massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers.

He didn't look up as the bathroom door opened, nor when he heard Hermione's soft footfalls approaching.

"Headache?" Her voice was soft and he felt her hand rest briefly on his shoulder.

"Mmm," he replied quietly, finally opening his eyes and she dropped her hand and turned to the bedside cabinet.

"I'll get you a phial of something," Hermione murmured, opening the drawer and rummaging through it. Failing to find what she was looking for, she pulled her robe more tightly about her and exited the bedroom, and Severus realised she was heading for the lab… the very empty lab he had yet to explain.

Cursing under his breath, Severus followed her, managing to awkwardly don a pair of sleep pants as he crossed the room.

"Hermione," he called, "I'm fine. I don't need a potion. You don't need to go in th-"

But she had already opened the door and was staring at the empty room. When she turned back, her eyes were wide and fearful.

"Are you going somewhere?" Her voice was small, as though she hardly dared ask for fear of the answer.

He held her eyes for a beat, then sighed. This wasn't the way he'd wanted to reveal his plans to her. Crossing the room, he took her by the shoulders and guided her away from the lab, closing the door behind them.

"Were you going to leave before I got back?" she asked before he could speak.

"What?" He blinked, startled. "No, Hermione. _No_."

"No," he repeated, appalled she would think such a thing of him. Seeing his dismay, her uncertainly wavered, and she flushed. "Why would you think that?"

"I… just… Don't get me wrong, Severus – I'm so grateful you organised for me to visit my parents, I really am…"

She trailed off, biting the corner of her lip, and he prompted, "But?"

Hermione looked everywhere but directly at him as she finally said, "I just got the feeling there was an ulterior motive to getting rid of me for a while."

_There was_, he thought, but nothing like she was thinking.

"You've been preoccupied ever since the post arrived last Friday morning, Severus," she pressed on. "It's not the Order of Merlin; we went through that, so it must be something else you received that day. Either that, or it _is_ me." She took a deep breath and seemed to set her jaw. "In any case, there are some things we need to discuss, and I don't fancy putting them off any longer."

"Now is as good a time as any," he agreed, though not without the slightest sense of trepidation.

"But not here." She interrupted his thoughts, and he looked at her questioningly.

"Let's go outside, take a walk around the lake or something. All that fresh air in France has given me a taste for freedom."

* * *

After a hasty breakfast in the Great Hall, Hermione led the way as she and Severus walked out the main doors of the castle. The sun was warm on their backs as they crossed the sweeping lawns, taking the path that bypassed the edge of the forest and took them around the lake. They walked in silence until the castle was some distance behind them, and the only sounds were the gentle lapping of the water and quiet rustling of unseen creatures in the nearby forest.

"So," Hermione broke the silence after some time, "do you want to go first, or shall I?"

He seemed to consider the question carefully.

"Given that you are always the first between us to express any sort of… feelings, emotions and such, perhaps it is time I took my turn."

Hermione hooked one arm in the crook of his elbow as they continued walking, waiting for Severus to speak.

"I received a letter from St Mungo's," he finally said. "Or should I say, an offer."

She glanced sideways at him questioningly, waiting for him to elaborate further.

"They have somehow learnt of my work with the Wolfsbane Potion, and seem rather interested in funding future development."

Hermione's eyes widened and her face broke into a grin.

"That's wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Severus, you've accepted, haven't you? You must!"

"They require my decision by sundown tomorrow," he said evenly, "and no, I have not yet accepted or declined."

Hermione stared at him, confused. "Why on earth not?"

"It will mean leaving Hogwarts… for good," he said, and although his face was impassive, there was something in his voice that made Hermione look more closely. His jaw was set a little too tightly, and there was uncertainty in his eyes.

"It won't be for good," she said quietly. "We'll always be welcome back here."

A smile flitted across his face, but she could see he was anything but convinced.

"In a way," she went on, "I'm almost glad the decision to leave has been taken out of my hands; all the remaining students are expected to move on after the ceremony tomorrow. I would stay here because it's familiar, because it's all I've known in the wizarding world, but along with the good memories I'll take of this place, there are painful ones as well… ones that might be better left alone for a while." She stopped and laughed softly. "Here, you were supposed to be talking, and I've just taken over."

"No, that's good," he said. "We need to have a conversation, not a one-sided talk. I've been thinking about which decision to make for most of the last five days and reached no conclusion. I'm thinking in circles now – I need someone to set me straight.

They were perhaps a third of the way around the lake, and a pile of large rocks, warm from the sun, seemed like a good place to sit while they continued their conversation. Diverting to other matters for a while, Hermione told Severus about her time in France, her parents' house and her conversation with them about him. He seemed relieved to hear they were reasonably accepting of the relationship, though Hermione skirted around her mother's last comment about the ring.

Hermione mentioned her parents' questions about her academic future, and their surprise when she hadn't been able to give them an answer. At the mention of her lack of plans, Severus made a noise of disbelief and shook his head.

"I just realised," he began when she raised a questioning eyebrow, "that for all my indecision about what to do and whether to leave, I haven't asked what _you_ plan to do."

"Well, the offers aren't flooding in for me yet," she teased, earning a half-hearted scowl from him. Sobering, she added, "I'll have to wait for my NEWT marks, of course, but I thought I might like to do further study in Charms and Arithmancy."

She hesitated, wondering if he would be offended that she hadn't expressed an interest in pursuing potions. Hopefully he would understand her reasoning.

"Interesting choices," he commented, looking at her sideways. "Any particular reasons?"

"Well, they're both fascinating topics in their own right, but they also seem to be important when used in conjunction with potions."

"Indeed," he agreed. "But you haven't considered studying potions in itself?"

"Of course I have, but…" She hesitated, and he raised an eyebrow when she looked up at him. Sighing, she continued, "If I was going to study potions, I'd want to learn from the best, and… well, that would hardly be appropriate, would it?"

He didn't say anything, and her confidence faltered.

"That is… I mean, if you… if we're going to be… if you want me…" She trailed off uncertainly, suddenly wondering whether her assumption had been wrong. Had her earlier fears been correct, and he had decided he no longer wanted her to be a part of his future?

The worry must have shown on her face, because he sighed and pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her. "Of course I do, you silly girl," he murmured.

"I'm not a girl," she muttered, her voice muffled in his shirt, and she felt a chuckle rumble up through his chest.

"No," he agreed, pulling back and taking her face in his hands. He bent his head and added, "But you can still be silly sometimes, as I believe I told you once before."

Closing the remaining distance between them, he captured her lips in a searing kiss that left her breathless and grasping at his shoulders for purchase. Still cupping her cheek, he drew back only so far that he could look into her eyes.

"You still doubt me?"

"Don't _you_ doubt _me_?" she returned, recalling his words last night. "What did you mean when you said I don't understand what I'm letting myself in for?"

He sighed again, and rose from the rock he'd been sitting on. Holding out his hand until she took it, Severus pulled her to her feet and beckoned for her to walk with him as he rejoined the path around the lake.

"I just don't want you to think a life with me will be easy, Hermione," he began. "Despite what the _Prophet_ said, there will always be people who will be disapproving – disgusted, even – of our relationship… and there will always be people who wish me harm for what I've done."

"The Death Eaters are dead, Severus," Hermione said gently.

"Not all those who agreed with Voldemort's ways bore his Mark," he reminded her.

She frowned worriedly.

"You actually think some would try to- to hurt you now? There's no support out there for those beliefs anymore; they'd be crazy to try anything."

"People bent on revenge are seldom thinking logically," he said seriously. "I'm more concerned they might think to hurt _you_. I don't think it's _likely_, but it's possible, and you need to be aware of that."

Hermione was silent for a moment in the pretence of actually thinking over what he'd said. There was no decision to make; this wouldn't change her mind. Did he actually think it might deter her, that she would give up what they had on the off-chance some unknown wizard with a past grievance might come after them?

"I'm aware of the risks, Severus," she said. "I've told you before, I'm in no more danger being with you than I am being Harry's best friend, and if people are bent on revenge now, they'll be out to get him, too. I'm not going to hide away or change my life because of something that may never happen. I won't do it. If I've given you the impression I've been doubting you, it's… well, perhaps I was, but not because I'm worried for my own safety. Far from it, in fact – I always feel safe with you. I think it's more self-doubt I've been feeling this week."

Pausing for a moment, she searched for the best way to explain what she'd been feeling. Sorting out the jumble of thoughts and emotions was far from easy.

"I'm so used to planning ahead and being organised," she finally continued, "and suddenly I don't know what I'll be doing next week or next month, let alone next _year_. Don't get me wrong – as I said before, I think it's good to be leaving Hogwarts, but at the same time I guess I'm just a bit unsettled; everything is changing."

"Not everything has to change, Hermione" he said quietly.

Taking her hands in his, Severus turned to face her. "I'm leaving Hogwarts, I'm giving up the job I've done for all of my adult life, and I have few regrets about leaving those things behind; it's time to move on from here. But that doesn't mean I'll leave everything behind, and I don't intend to leave you."

"I'd like to see you try," she quipped, smiling up at him; deep inside, she felt a sudden burst of happiness at his simple words.

He smiled back for a moment, but then grew serious; releasing her hands, he trailed his fingers lightly up her arms, over her shoulders and behind her neck. Hermione felt his fingers brush her skin as he unclasped her necklace, and she hardly dared to breathe as he unthreaded the ring and stared at it for a moment where it lay in his palm.

Closing his fingers over it, he looked up at her, the depths of his eyes filled with such raw emotion that Hermione found herself suddenly having to concentrate on forcing air into her lungs. She'd been expecting this… no, _hoping_ for this… but there had always been the lingering doubt he would have changed his mind.

"I'm not the easiest person to live with, Hermione," he began. "I can be temperamental, frustrating and often stubborn. I'm far too used to cutting myself off from others, and I'll admit the prospect of taking this job and– and becoming a part of society again, for want of a better description, is both daunting and strangely exciting. I don't make friends easily, I'm wary of most people and I generally expect them to think the worst of me. It would be foolish and naïve to think there won't be _some_ people who'll look down on you for your association with me."

She opened her mouth to say again that she didn't care, but he shook his head briefly to silence her.

"But I do love you, Hermione," he continued softly, his eyes not leaving hers. "More than I thought possible, in fact. Perhaps it sounds clichéd, but you truly have taught me how to live again, and I couldn't imagine going forwards in life without you."

Taking her left hand in his again and lightly caressing her ring finger with the pad of his thumb, he held out his other hand, the ring still lying in his palm.

"Will you wear this for me now?"

"I will," she whispered without hesitation, amazed at the steadiness of her voice; her whole body suddenly seemed to be trembling with an avalanche of emotions.

He held the ring close to the tip of her finger and looked at her for permission. At her nod, he slipped it on her finger, and Hermione was amazed to find it fitted perfectly. After wearing it around her neck for the last three weeks, it felt strange on her finger… or _different_, at least. She supposed she should get used it. She intended to wear it for a very long time.

Looking up at him again, she didn't bother to hide the tears brimming in her eyes; for once, they were tears of happiness. Her throat was tight, but she managed to whisper, "I love you, Severus."

He laughed suddenly, a smile of pure joy creasing his features. Hermione shrieked in surprise as he grabbed her around the waist and spun her around several times before allowing her feet to touch the ground again. Such spontaneity was so unlike him… or maybe it was unlike the person he _had_ been, not the one he truly was. Whatever the explanation, Hermione delighted in the happiness she saw in him and the knowledge it was she who was giving him such joy.

Pulling his head down to her level, she kissed him deeply, the world narrowing to the feel of his lips, his hands on her back and the warmth of the sun on her face. They stood wrapped in each other's embrace, neither speaking for what could have been a few minutes or close to an hour… sometimes kissing, else just leaning against one another, enjoying the moment. For a rare short space of time, there was nothing to worry about, nothing to do and nowhere they needed to be but with each other. The soft breeze coming off the lake stirred Hermione's hair, blowing a wispy strand across her face where it tickled her nose. She sniffed and tried to blow it away before Severus reached up and tucked it back behind her ear.

By the time Severus made the first move to break their embrace, the sun was becoming almost uncomfortably warm, and when they turned back for the castle, they walked away from the edge of the lake, in the shade of the trees.

If anyone else was about, taking a walk through the grounds on this fine June day, they would see Hermione walking arm in arm with Severus, laughing and talking.

_Let them see, and let them wonder_, she thought fiercely. If anyone asked, she would tell them exactly why she was so happy.

Talking about various things, Hermione wondered whether they would be leaving Hogwarts tomorrow night, after the ceremony. Severus confirmed his intention to do exactly that, and Hermione questioned where they would go.

"I was hoping you would accompany me to the house I took you to at Christmas," he said. "I told you back then I considered it simply a house, not a home… but I'd like that change. It's not a particularly large house, and it holds nothing of the splendour of Hogwarts, but it could be home, if you'll stay with me?"

"I think it would make a lovely home," she replied. Though her last visit there had hardly been under pleasant circumstances, the house itself had seemed cozy and welcoming… and as long as he was there, too, she would have no cause to complain.

He smiled again.

"Looks like I have a good deal of packing to do this afternoon and tomorrow, then," he said. "And I suppose I should owl St Mungo's my answer, too."

He exhaled a deep breath, as though finally making these decisions had taken a great weight from his shoulders. The weight of uncertainty, Hermione reflected. She had certainly felt it hanging over her, too… but no longer.

"The NEWT results might be coming via Owl Post this afternoon, too," Hermione said conversationally. "We should have had them earlier in the week, of course, but the Ministry has obviously had more important things to worry about since the exams. I'd like to have them today; tomorrow is going to be mad as it is, with everyone arriving for the ceremony and medal presentation."

They had reached the lawns leading up to the main castle doors, and as expected, a handful of people were enjoying the early afternoon sunshine. Some distance away, Hermione spotted the unmistakeable red hair of Ron and Ginny; the brother and sister were sitting with Harry, and all three had turned to watch her crossing the lawns with Severus.

"What I'd give to be a lacewing fly on the wall when you give them the good news," Severus muttered, a hint of bitterness creeping back into his voice just briefly.

"Don't be like that, Severus," she said, refusing to withdraw her arm from the crook of his elbow as she raised her free hand to wave at her friends. The three of them waved back hesitantly, curiosity written on their faces even from a distance. Turning her eyes back to the man beside her, Hermione went on, "They know how I feel about you. It might take them a little while to get used to the idea, but my friendship with them is far too strong to be lost simply because they don't agree with my choice in men."

Severus snorted, but he looked content nonetheless.

"I'll talk to them later today," Hermione promised. "You might be surprised how accepting they are. For now, though, you have a letter to send and a lot of junk to pack. I daresay you could use my help."

"Junk?" He feigned a cross expression. "I'll thank you not to refer to my possessions in such an impolite manner. I hope you'll treat them with more respect than that if you intend to help me pack them!"

Hermione laughed.

"Come on, let's get started," she said.

Leading the way up the stairs to the main doors, she and Severus entered the ancient castle for what would quite possibly be the last time.

* * *

To be continued…

_Author's Notes: So close to the end now – only the epilogue to go! I hope to have that written some time next weekend, but real life may (as it so often does) get in the way again… this time in the form of moving house. sigh There's always something, isn't there?_

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed!_

_For anyone who is curious, Pointe du Raz is a real place on the coast of France, though by now it may be more busy and touristy than I've made it out to be. You can find a map of the Pointe du Raz area and a picture of the house on which the Grangers' was based on my LJ (link via my profile page)._

_As always, many thanks to Potion Mistress, who sent this chapter back in what has to be record time!_

_And some appropriate lyrics of the chapter, courtesy of Good Charlotte's 'Moving On'…_

_Life. Hope. Truth. Trust._

_Faith. Pride. Love. Lust._

_On without the things we've lost but things we've gained we'll take with us._


	49. Home

Disclaimer: Do I have to say it again? I don't own them. Never have. Never will. I'm just borrowing them, and I will be returning them at the bottom of the page…

* * *

**Epilogue**

By the time Friday evening came around, Hermione was truly ready to leave Hogwarts. At the end of the night, those whom she had stayed for would also be leaving… and one of them in particular would be leaving with her.

The rest of Thursday afternoon had been spent helping Severus pack up the contents of his sitting room. He insisted it would only take mere minutes if he used magic to shrink and pack everything but the most breakable items, but Hermione insisted he actually look at what he was taking with him… surely he must have accumulated things in the last twenty years he no longer needed?

They argued half-heartedly about whether he should take the unnecessary items out before packing, or simply take it all and sort it later; for every trunk of books he packed, Hermione re-opened it and went through the contents, pulling out duplicate copies, out-dated textbooks and old notebooks full of indecipherable scribble she doubted he had even remembered writing… he certainly wouldn't need them _all_ in the future.

Severus caved in eventually, going through the piles of parchment and books she unpacked; more than half went back into the trunks, much to Hermione's consternation, but it was something… there was still a sizeable pile by the end of the afternoon to be disposed of.

The only trunk she left alone was the one containing items from the cabinet that held some of his most private and personal possessions. As he had withdrawn his small Pensieve, along with a warded rack of phials containing silvery memories, the expression on his face had been unreadable. Hermione didn't comment. For all their time together, for all their trust in one another, they had never discussed what Hermione had seen that night in Dumbledore's Pensieve… it seemed like a lifetime ago. He had never expressed a desire to speak with her about the memories he knew she'd seen, and she found it painful enough to cast her mind back to them… she would never ask him to relive them against his will.

Some things were better forgotten.

Her friends' reactions to the ring she now wore on her finger was better than she had expected. Ron was the first to notice, when Hermione sat with them for dinner in the Great Hall that night, and Hermione wondered at his gaping expression until she realised his eyes were following the movement of her hand as it lifted her fork from her plate to her mouth. After mouthing, "Later," to her stunned friend, Hermione pulled him aside after they'd finished the meal, along with Harry and Ginny, to give them the news.

They were shocked, to say the least, but neither Ron nor Harry attempted to talk her out of what must have seemed to them a sudden and rash decision. Ginny merely smiled at Hermione and hugged her; after their discussion some weeks ago, the youngest Weasley understood how Hermione felt better than the other two ever would.

The closest any of them came to expressing doubt over her decision was Harry's first words after her revelation, "Hermione, are you sure?"

When Hermione simply nodded in response, Harry seemed to accept that, watching her for a time with a curious, contemplative expression on his face. Perhaps he realised that no matter how she tried to explain it, it was unlikely any of them would ever understand how or why she had come to fall in love with their former Potions master. Even she found it difficult to pinpoint exactly where the line had blurred between a silly schoolgirl crush and something far more powerful and enduring.

Nevertheless, it was heartening that her friends accepted her decision; nothing would have changed her mind if they hadn't, but it took a small weight from her shoulders knowing she wouldn't be forced to choose between Severus and her other friends.

Friday morning's _Prophet_ brought more good news; Hogsmeade, which had been in the process of being rebuilt since much of the town had burnt to the ground on Beltane Eve, was officially re-opened. Residents were moving back to the town, shops were open for business again, and a memorial was to be built in the town centre in remembrance to all those who had been lost fighting against Voldemort, both on Beltane Eve and over the course of both wars. The list of names was long, reminding Hermione again how lucky she was still to have Severus and her friends.

Draco's name appeared on the list, much to Hermione's relief, and though Severus' face remained impassive when she showed him, she could tell he was pleased the younger man was receiving some sort of recognition.

Severus spent most of the morning Portkeying between his quarters at Hogwarts and the small house on the outskirts of London, moving all of his possessions in preparation for leaving that night, after the ceremony. He took the contents of the lab and sitting room, and then proceeded to pack clothes and other personal items from the bedroom and bathroom. The furniture all belonged to Hogwarts and would remain for whomever took over the role of Head of Slytherin next year; Hermione had grown fond of curling up in the corner of the couch nearest the fireplace, and she would be sorry to leave it behind.

She offered to help Severus unpack at the other end, but he insisted she remain at Hogwarts and spend the day with her friends, so after retrieving her own trunk from where she'd left it in the Gryffindor common room and bringing it down for him to take to their new home, she went outside in search of her friends.

It was almost lunchtime, and she, Harry and Ron were walking back up to the castle after visiting Hagrid when three important-looking owls swooped down towards them.

"Ministry owls," Ron said, catching the envelope one of the owls dropped in front of him. "It's our NEWTs!"

Hermione almost dropped her own envelope, her hands trembling with a sudden onset of nerves. Glancing up at her two friends, Hermione bit her lip, and Harry laughed at her worried expression.

"Come on, Hermione," he chuckled. "You've got nothing to be worried about. Let's all open them together."

Hermione nodded; taking a deep breath, she broke the official Ministry seal and slid the single piece of parchment from the envelope. Unfolding it, she cast her eyes down the list of results, everything around her narrowing to a single row of letters…

"Well?"

Harry's voice drew her eyes from the parchment; he was looking at her expectantly, a barely concealed grin on his own face. Ron, too, was looking pleased with his own results, and Hermione held hers out for her friends to see.

"_Five_ Outstandings and two Exceeds Expectations!" Harry exclaimed.

"Hermione, that's bloody brilliant!" Ron added, taking the parchment from Harry and glancing over it himself.

"Thanks," she said, a smile of relief and joy breaking out on her face. A year ago, Hermione might have – no, _would have_ – been disappointed with anything less than straight O's. Her focus had changed in the past year, though; study was still important, but no longer was it _the_ most important thing to her. She had never been top of the class in Defence, one of the subjects she'd received an E for, and as for the other one, Transfiguration… well, looking back, Hermione supposed she _had_ been favouring Charms, Potions and Arithmancy over her Head of House's subject. She was good at it, but it wasn't a subject she hoped to make use of in future study.

Turning her attention back to her friends, Hermione looked over their results, her happiness increasing when she saw how well they'd both done, despite the extenuating circumstances of the year. Harry's marks would have gained him entry to the Auror programme, even without special treatment from the Minister for Magic, and Ron was delighted just to have passed everything, let alone managing to scrape two E's and an O along the way.

They hugged each other and laughed, the nervous tension that had been building as they anticipated their results finally dissipating. It was the end of a journey for the three of them, Hermione reflected. They'd been together in their studies since the first class of their first year… elective subjects had taken them away from one another for a few classes a week, but for the most part, they'd remained a trio.

A smile grew on Hermione's face as she remembered her frustration in trying to convince the other two to get organised, do their essays ahead of time, and those ridiculous revision plans she'd drawn up for them each year.

She shook her head, chuckling to herself. They'd certainly had some fun in their years at the school.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Hermione returned to Severus' quarters to shower and dress in preparation for the celebration that night. Severus was there when she arrived, preparing to take the last trunk of his possessions and a rather disgruntled, cage-bound Tonatiuh to the house. With a sudden exclamation, Hermione called out for him to wait a moment and ran up to Gryffindor Tower, finding Crookshanks napping on a chair by the fireplace. If they were leaving straight after the conclusion of tonight's ceremony, it would be easier if he went now, with Severus' familiar. The half-Kneazle and the owl had been left alone in Severus' rooms on occasion, and seemed tolerable enough of one another to be left alone in the new house for the rest of the day.

Returning to Severus' quarters, where he was standing with Tonatiuh's cage and the shrunken trunk in one hand, and his wand and the Portkey in the other, Hermione crossed the room to him, taking a moment to catch her breath before she spoke.

"Crooks," she said. "Can you take him as well?"

Severus frowned at the ginger furball she held out to him.

"Doesn't he have a cage?"

"He has a carrier," she replied, "but I packed that in _my_ trunk, which you've already taken."

With a mock, long-suffering sigh, he took Crookshanks from her, somehow managing to hoist the animal under his arm and still maintain his hold on everything else.

"I have something to tell you when you come back, too," she said, smiling as she held up her NEWT results.

Obviously recognising the Ministry insignia on the parchment, he nodded briskly. "I shan't be long."

Tapping the Portkey with his wand, he disappeared, an indignant squawk from Tonatiuh and a hiss from Crookshanks audible in his wake. Looking down at her t-shirt, Hermione picked a handful of ginger hairs off the garment, wondering whether she should have warned Severus that the half-Kneazle was shedding…

The scowl on his face when he returned, the sleeve and right side of his black shirt covered in cat hair, answered that question, and she drew her wand and cast a charm to vanish the mess before he could complain.

"Well?" He looked at her with a trace of impatience as she avoided his gaze under the pretence of inspecting his shirt for any remaining hairs. "Are you going to tell me your results?"

Trying to remain impassive so as not to give anything away, she handed him the slip of parchment, biting her lip as she waited to see _his_ reaction. If she recalled correctly, his own NEWT results had been exceptional… would he think she could have done better?

Hermione had no cause to worry. His indignancy on her behalf at only receiving an E for Defence was almost worth the lower grade itself.

"You've just helped defeat the _Dark_ _Lord_ himself! What more do they want you to do?" He handed the parchment back to her, a disgusted expression on his face, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"Defeating Voldemort doesn't have anything to do with the NEWTs," she reminded him, setting the missive aside, "and I _did_ mess up my practical exam."

"Still," he grumbled. Glancing at her through hooded eyes, a barely-concealed smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You did quite well this year."

"_Quite_?" Hermione knew he was teasing her, but she played along. "What do you mean quite?"

Smirking down at her, he put his arms around her waist, pulling her close so she had to tilt her head back to see his face.

"Five Outstandings, two Exceeds Expectations _and_ an Order of Merlin… yes, you've done quite well indeed."

She smiled up at him, but then his face became serious, his eyes losing their shine of mirth.

"You've done _wonderfully_ well," he said. "Those results are outstanding, and even more so given the additional burdens that have been placed on your shoulders this year. Congratulations, Hermione."

He dipped his head to brush his lips lightly across her forehead, then tilted her chin up with one hand and captured her mouth. Hermione parted her lips and felt his tongue slip past, flicking over her teeth and rubbing against her own tongue in a soft but insistent caress.

Severus wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her more firmly against him; she felt the heat radiating from his body and the evidence of his need growing firm against her stomach. Amidst a rush of her own desire also came the realisation they probably didn't have time for this now.

"I have to get ready," she gasped, managing to pull her mouth away from his.

Undeterred by her words, his lips moved to her neck.

"Severus," she protested again, "I can't be late for my own graduation. I need to take a shower."

"How convenient," he murmured, making her shiver as the tip of his tongue flicked over the sensitive skin just behind her ear. "As it happens, so do I."

Hermione groaned in frustration, knowing they would never have a chance of making it downstairs in time for the start of the ceremony if they took a shower together. Just the mere thought of his hands lathering soap over her naked body was causing a heated blush to creep up her chest and neck onto her face.

"The ceremony doesn't start for… three hours," he whispered, his eyes flickering briefly to the clock on the mantle. "You don't need _that_ long to get ready, even without magic."

_He's right_, a voice in the back of her told her, but still she refused to give in so easily. Once Severus wanted something, though, he was nothing if not persistent, and her protests, which had been half-hearted at best to begin with, soon ceased altogether as she allowed him to lead her through the bedroom and into the bathroom, discarding various items of clothing along the way.

* * *

They ended up making it downstairs with time to spare anyway. Hermione emerged from the bathroom dressed and ready to go, a pleasant thrum still tingling through her body. She placed her remaining few possessions – the clothes she had worn earlier that day and some toiletries – into an overnight bag and shrunk it to the size of a Knut, tucking it into the pocket of her formal dress robes.

The bedroom was devoid of everything but the furniture, no indication of its soon-to-be-former occupant remaining. Out in the sitting room, Hermione found Severus leaning against the bare desk, lost in thought.

"Ready?"

He visibly started at the sound of her voice, and Hermione eyed him with a trace of concern.

"Severus, are you all right?"

He nodded, offering her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, before glancing around the room again.

"I thought I couldn't wait to leave these rooms, after being confined to them for so long this year… but I will be sorry to leave them behind," he said with a sigh, pushing away from the desk. "Living here for so long, I couldn't help but start to consider it home."

"_I_ consider Hogwarts home," Hermione said, crossing to stand beside him, "and I've lived here for far less time than you. Everyone leaves home at least once in their life… you know, ventures out into the world in search of fortune and glory…"

Severus snorted derisively.

"…or simply a new beginning, a change."

"That sounds more like it," he agreed. Glancing at the clock on the mantle again, he drew a deep breath. "Now we really _do_ have to leave."

Hermione waited while he returned to the bedroom and bathroom one last time, checking for anything he may have left behind. Then he moved across the room to the lab door, checking that room as well.

Standing by the window, Hermione used the brief moment to enjoy the stunning view one last time. It was still a few hours before sunset at this time of year, and a steady stream of people could be seen making their way up the path from the front gates to the castle. From a distance, Hermione recognised some of her classmates arriving in groups or alone. She felt rather than heard Severus approach, and then his hands were on her shoulders, warm through the thin fabric of her dress robes.

"Let's go," he said quietly. His hands left her shoulders as he moved away again, and Hermione followed him across the room, stepping past him out into the corridor.

There was a strange, closed look on his face as he shut the door and turned to her. Choosing not to comment again, Hermione simply tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow as they headed downstairs to the celebration.

The Entrance Hall was packed with witches and wizards, all milling around waiting for the ceremony to begin; the main castle doors were open, a soft breeze filtering inside, and more people were entering all the time.

Numerous pairs of eyes turned to Hermione and Severus as they descended the stairs into the crowded room; Hermione pointedly ignored those curious gazes she didn't recognise, focusing instead on the small group of teachers and Order members a short distance away. Severus guided her through the crowd to join Professors Lupin and McGonagall, Charlie Weasley, Emmeline Vance and Deladus Diggle. The latter three all shook hands with Severus, commending him on the award he was to receive; it seemed the list of who was to receive an Order of Merlin hadn't remained a secret entirely. Vance and Diggle congratulated Hermione with a handshake, too, while Charlie gave her a brief hug, marvelling over her excellent NEWT results, which he'd obviously heard about from his brother.

After unhooking his arm from hers to accept the others' handshakes, Hermione was surprised when Severus put his arm loosely around her again, resting his hand at the small of her back. It was a small gesture, but meant more than Severus probably realised to Hermione. Oblivious, he spoke with Lupin, enquiring as to the health of the other werewolves who had been injured in the battle at Godric's Hollow, while Hermione took a moment to discuss her results with Professor McGonagall.

It was at some stage during that discussion, when Hermione waved her left hand in the midst of explaining something, that McGonagall noticed her ring. Hermione stopped mid-sentence as her Head of House's eyes widened, and followed the older woman's gaze to her own outflung hand.

"Oh, uh…" Hermione faltered, dropping her hand and tucking it self-consciously in the folds of her cloak. The professor's gaze moved to Severus, then back to Hermione, realisation dawning.

"Well," she said, her voice vaguely tight. "That's… unexpected, Miss Granger. I'm… surprised… I hadn't realised things had become quite as serious as the _Prophet_ reported."

Hermione's face fell a little at her teacher's reaction, but she didn't have a chance to think on it or formulate a response; at that moment, Dumbledore's voice rang out across the Entrance Hall, magnified above the chatter of the crowd to call the graduating students to enter the Great Hall.

"I shall see you a bit later," Severus murmured in her ear as she stepped away, joining the throng of students making their way to the doors of the hall. She felt a quick tug on her elbow and turned to see Harry and Ron beside her, both looking extremely smart in their dress robes.

According to the programme parchment they were each handed as they entered the hall, the graduation ceremony would be first, followed by dinner, then the Order of Merlin presentation, and finally the informal celebration party.

The House banners adorned the walls of the hall, and the Hogwarts crest, a combination of the four House mascots, hung at the front of the cavernous room, above the raised stage at the far end of the room where the teachers' table usually resided. The hall was currently filled with rows of seats, and the front two rows were left empty; Hermione and the other students were ushered into the rows behind with her classmates, sitting in alphabetical order between Ravenclaw Anthony Goldstein and Slytherin Daphne Greengrass. She pushed away the thought that she would have been sitting between Daphne and another Slytherin, had things been different. As it was, Hermione realised she'd hardly spoken to the Slytherin girl now sitting beside her in seven years at the school together.

She made an effort now, enquiring about the other girl's plans for the future, and was surprised to discover that Daphne, too, intended to pursue a career in Arithmancy, though she meant to travel abroad before settling down to further study. They spoke quietly as the Great Hall filled with people, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if it was House prejudice that had prevented her from becoming friends with the Slytherin before.

The hall was filling with the other guests as they'd been speaking, and she watched as her teachers filed into the two front rows. Severus was among them, and his eyes flickered her way, the barest hint of a smile curling the corner of his lips before he sat down between Professors McGonagall and Sinistra.

When the last of the guests had entered the Hall, the heavy wooden doors closed with a loud clunk. The Headmaster stepped up to the dais and raised his hands in a call for silence, and the quiet chatter in the hall ceased almost instantly.

"The end of another year at Hogwarts," he began, voice echoing in the cavernous hall even without the benefit of a Sonorus charm. "Another group of fine young witches and wizards are here for one last night before they make their way out into wizarding society. I am firm in my belief that we will see many of this year's graduates go on to excel in their chosen fields. It is especially pleasing to see so many graduates here tonight, given the difficult events of the past few months, and I commend you all on your determination to complete your studies against the odds." Dumbledore paused, a twinkle in his eyes as he gazed along the rows of students.

"And now," he went on, "I'd like to invite the Minister for Magic to say a few words before we begin official proceedings."

Hermione tuned out a little while the Minister droned on about academic excellence, good wishes for the future and employment opportunities the Ministry offered to new graduates. After a good ten minutes, much to the relief of most of the students, who were growing restless with the Minister's monotonous voice, Scrimgeour invited Dumbledore to join him in presenting the parchments. As the Minister called each student's name, they made their way up onto the stage, shook hands with the Minister, then proceeded to where Dumbledore stood waiting to hand over their parchment.

Applause rang in Hermione's ears as she shook Scrimgeour's hand and then made her way over to Dumbledore. Positively beaming, the Headmaster shook her hand firmly as he handed Hermione her graduation parchment.

"Congratulations, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir," she murmured.

Maintaining his grasp on her hand for a beat longer, the old wizard winked, adding, "And congratulations to you and Severus, too. I cannot tell you how happy I am for the both of you."

Hermione ducked her head to hide her blush as she hurried to exit the other side of the stage, returning to her seat while the presentation continued. A row in front and half a dozen seats to her left, Hermione saw Severus fold his arms, a vaguely bored expression on his profile that she knew hadn't been there minutes before when she'd been receiving her certificate. He had been clapping just as much as the other teachers… for her, at least. Smiling to herself, she turned her attention back to the stage just in time to hear the Minister announce Harry's name.

The applause was raucous for the young man who had defeated Voldemort, and Hermione's own hands were stinging by the time she stopped clapping. Ever modest, Harry grinned sheepishly as he exited the stage after shaking the Headmaster's hand and sharing a few quiet words.

At the end of the presentation, the Minister read out the names of a handful of students who were not there to receive their parchments for various reasons, Draco among them, and bid the Headmaster accept their certificates on their behalf. There was scattered, hesitant clapping at that announcement, as though the crowd was uncertain whether applause or silence was the most appropriate response.

After a brief pause, Dumbledore announced dinner would be served as soon as the hall was prepared, and asked the crowd to exit to the Entrance Hall in the interim.

Hermione exited with the throng of people, catching up with Harry and Ron at the door. The Entrance Hall was overcrowded, and they stepped outside, standing on the rise of grass a short distance from the castle. After a few minutes, Severus joined them, and Hermione was surprised and pleased when he extended a hand in congratulations to both Harry and Ron. Equally surprised, her two friends accepted his hand, muttering awkward thanks before Remus joined them, providing relief from the slightly uncomfortable moment in which none of them quite knew what to say.

Their group grew larger as they waited, and Hermione found herself separated from Severus as a couple of her Gryffindor classmates pulled her aside. She tried not to grin as she noticed Severus and Harry seemed to have ended up standing next to one another, while Dumbledore spoke to them both. Severus was looking down his nose at the younger man as Harry said something to the Headmaster, and when he looked up and caught Hermione's eye, obviously noticing her amused expression, he fixed a mock scowl on his face, and she rolled her eyes at him. They might be tolerable of one another for her sake, but she could never expect anything more from her best friend and her fiancé.

_Fiancé... _The word slipped out so easily it was startling. It had barely been a day since Severus had slipped his ring onto her finger, but the idea of being with him was something that had become familiar long before they had made it official. It was a word she hadn't used before, though… she quite liked it.

Focusing on the present again, she realised her gaze was still on Severus, and he was returning the look quizzically. She shook her head minutely, giving him a reassuring smile before looking away again.

A few minutes later, a magnified voice called them back into the Great Hall. Instead of the rows of seats, there were now masses of round tables. The decorations in the House colours remained, but they were now accompanied by other banners… the official Ministry seal and the silhouette figure of the wizard on the Order of Merlin. Those individuals due to receive awards after dinner were directed to sit towards the front of the hall, and Hermione saw Harry and Ron moving ahead to join Dumbledore at a table in the front left corner.

She made to join them, but Severus stopped her for a moment.

"Perhaps you'd rather sit with your friends alone," he suggested, nodding towards another table where some other teachers had sat. "I'm happy to join them, instead."

"Don't be stupid, Severus," she said, taking his arm and pulling him with her. "We're sitting together."

As they were speaking, McGonagall, Lupin and Tonks joined the table.

"See?" she prompted. "It's not just a table of silly young students."

He snorted softly but joined Hermione, taking the remaining seat at the table between her and McGonagall.

The meal was superb; a never-ending spread of soup, sumptuous roasts, light summer salads and every dessert imaginable left them full fit to bursting, and the elf-made wine flowed freely, only adding further to the good cheer resonating throughout the room.

Before the presentation began, Dumbledore excused himself from their table and made his way up onto the stage. Though due to receive an award himself, it was a courtesy to him as both Headmaster and Head of the Order that he was taking part in the ceremony as well.

As the last dishes of dessert vanished and the tables were cleared of everything but wine glasses and steaming cups of tea, the Minister for Magic stepped forward and cleared his throat loudly. The crowd quietened instantly, anticipation thick in the air.

"Courage," the Minister began, pacing across the stage rather than remaining behind the dais. "Unity, respect, freedom. These are the virtues the great wizard Merlin sought to uphold in his time… that we might live freely and in unity with all those in our world and respect the differences among us, that we might seek to understand Muggles and co-exist with them while preserving the secrecy of our world, and most importantly, that we might have the courage to stand up those who would seek to oppress our way of life and threaten those values we hold dear."

"It is these virtues that allow us to live today, and those witches and wizards who go above and beyond the call of duty to uphold them are those to whom we award the Order of Merlin, the highest accolade in the wizarding world." The Minister paused, glancing out across the hall. "The Order of Merlin is not awarded lightly; those honoured tonight are the reason we can celebrate freedom and peace, and it is my great privilege to confer these awards on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, and with the gratitude of the whole wizarding world."

A round of applause marked the end of the speech, and the presentation began; progressing in alphabetical order, a handful of Orders of Merlin, third class were awarded to a number of Order members, three Aurors, and the two oldest werewolves in the group Professor Lupin had recruited. Dumbledore spoke briefly about each recipient's contribution to the war while Scrimgeour awarded the medals.

The Minister took over long enough to award the Headmaster another Order of Merlin, first class, and also bestow upon him awards on behalf of some of those who were no longer there to receive their own… Elphias Doge, Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hermione resisted the urge to turn and see Severus' expression at the second of those names; she had to grudgingly admit the ex-Auror deserved the honour, but still… She wondered at that moment about Draco. Surely if he'd been meant to receive one, it would have been given to Dumbledore? It would be a shocking oversight if he didn't receive one…

Before long, Hermione's name was called and she rose from the table and made her way up onto the stage, standing nervously while Dumbledore summarised her contribution to the war… moral support for Harry, taking over Severus' potion-making duties for the school and assisting him with his own work for the Order, the Wolfsbane, and inexplicably combining her own spell with Harry's to finish Voldemort once and for all. She was stunned, at the conclusion of the speech, to be awarded the Order of Merlin, second class. Compared to most, her contributions to the war had been minimal, and only recent, as well. Almost oblivious to the applause ringing out across the hall, Hermione crossed to the Minister for Magic and bowed her head to accept the ribbon he placed around her neck, hanging from which was the round medal engraved with the likeness of the ancient wizard from whom the award had gained its name.

Returning to her seat, she barely felt the pats on her shoulder from her friends and teachers, but Severus' hand firmly grasping hers beneath the table brought her back to reality, and she smiled weakly, still shocked at her good fortune.

The ceremony continued, and Hermione was surprised and dismayed when Hagrid and Professor Lupin were only given third class awards for their contributions. Harry's exclamation of surprise and Severus' snort of disgust showed she wasn't the only one who didn't agree with the Ministry's decisions; even after victory, it seemed bureaucracy and prejudice were still at foot.

There were no surprises when Professor McGonagall was awarded the Order of Merlin, first class, for her long-standing work with the Order, though after some other members had failed to be properly recognised, her expression as she shook the Minister's hand and accepted her award was distinctly cool.

Harry accepted his Order of Merlin, first class amidst thunderous applause, after a particularly long speech from Dumbledore, and then Severus was summoned up onto the stage.

The Headmaster found it hard to put into words everything Severus had done, and it again became clear to Hermione how much her fiancé meant to the older wizard; even under the bindings of the Vow, the respect and trust between the two men was unmistakeable. There was a murmur throughout the hall as Dumbledore spoke of Severus' near-death at Voldemort's hands, and Severus bowed his head; Hermione could detect the faintest pink tinge across his cheekbones, and she knew he was uncomfortable being the sole object of attention.

Turning to Severus, the Headmaster concluded, "It has been a long, difficult road you have travelled in the name of the Order, and without your tireless efforts, I have no doubt our success would not have been possible. Therefore, it is my great pleasure to award you, Severus Snape, the Order of Merlin, first class."

Severus stood still for a moment, shocked. Hermione had spoken with him briefly the day before about the awards they were to receive, and he had been certain it would be a third class, second at best. The Ministry of Magic wouldn't award an ex-Death Eater an Order of Merlin, first class, no matter what the circumstances… or so he had thought.

Seeming to shake himself out of his shock, he crossed the stage and accepted Scrimgeour's outstretched hand, then bowed his head and allowed the Minister to slip the shining medal around his neck.

Dumbledore was the first to begin clapping, followed by all of those at Hermione's table. The applause from the rest of the crowd was tentative at first; perhaps they were just as stunned as Severus… though Hermione was willing to bet they were surprised by all he'd done, not by the award itself. Soon the ovation grew, though, and as he made to leave the stage, Dumbledore had to call out loudly to be heard above the noise.

"Wait a moment, if you will, Severus."

Severus halted, a look of confusion crossing his face as the applause died down. Scrimgeour retrieved a small box from the table that held all the awards.

"Earlier this evening, I accepted awards on behalf of some of those who are no longer here with us," the Headmaster began.

Severus' gaze snapped to the Headmaster, then he glanced at Hermione. She shook her head, uncertain of what was happening. She thought she knew… she _hoped_ she knew…

"There is one who has not yet been duly honoured," the Headmaster went on. "There is one who lost his life, and yet without his assistance, without the choices he made, which resulted in the ultimate sacrifice, we would not have had the opportunity to confront Voldemort and bring about the end of the war. As a former student of Slytherin, who came to consider his Head of House as both confidante and friend, I believe he would wish it this way… Severus, I bid you accept the Order of Merlin, First Class, on behalf of Draco Malfoy, for services above and beyond those expected of any wizard; his sacrifice helped to ensure we shall live in peace."

Scrimgeour handed the box to Severus with another handshake; the applause this time was more subdued… dignified, and Severus nodded briefly in acknowledgement of that fact as he exited the stage and made his way back to the table. He sat down heavily beside Hermione, and before he bowed his head she saw his face was even paler than usual. He still clutched the box in one white-knuckled fist, and unconcerned of the watching eyes of others at the table, Hermione placed her own hand over his.

He jumped, startled at the touch, and glanced sideways at her. She could hardly make out his expression through the curtain of hair falling about his face, but she could see his eyes, glimmering just a bit brighter than usual.

"All right?" she mouthed, the words barely sounded on an exhalation of breath.

He swallowed and nodded, releasing his death-grip on the box and twisting his hand to grasp hers instead. She interlocked her fingers with his, and they remained that way for the rest of the ceremony, Hermione drawing away only to applaud when Ron and Ginny were awarded Orders of Merlin for each member of their family.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, the Minister and Dumbledore both spoke briefly again, the Headmaster announcing the informal celebration would now begin and guests were welcome to stay, eat, drink, talk and dance for as long as they pleased.

The tables and chairs vanished once all the occupants had risen and moved away, and a long table across one side of the room appeared, laden with refreshments and more food. Music filled the room from some unseen source, and the ceiling above, reflecting the sky outside, was a mass of stars.

Touching her arm briefly, Severus murmured something about needing some fresh air, and disappeared through the crowd before she could question him further.

Congratulations were flowing in from everywhere; people she hardly recognised were coming over to congratulate her on both her NEWTs and her award, then moving on to do the same for Harry and the others nearby. She responded with the same smile, the same words of thanks each time… all the while looking across the hall hoping to see Severus.

Finally, she was able to make her way out of the Great Hall, and after some searching, found Severus outside, around the side of the castle away from the main doors.

"Severus?"

His arms were folded and he was leaning against the stones of the ancient castle walls, staring upwards. When she spoke, his head turned slightly in her direction and he exhaled a breath.

"I just had to get away for a moment," he said by way of explanation for his sudden departure.

Hermione nodded and leant against the wall beside him. He was silent, but she knew if she waited long enough, he would speak.

"I never expected that, not for myself."

"Nor did I," she replied softly, fingering the medal hanging around her neck.

"You were deserving of yours," he added.

"And you weren't?" she stared at him incredulously. His silence spoke volumes, and she went on, "Don't be ridiculous, Severus. You've done more in this war than anyone, except perhaps Dumbledore… even more than Harry, though his part in it is more widely known."

He didn't comment, but glanced down at the box that contained Draco's medal still clasped in his hand.

"I'm glad for this," he said. "It's a small consolation after what he did, but it's something."

Hermione nodded.

"I'm glad Professor Dumbledore had it given to you," she said. "Draco respected and trusted you above anyone else."

"Yes, and a lot of good that did him," he said, a hint of bitterness clouding his tone.

"Don't say that," Hermione implored softly, resting her hand on his arm and rubbing lightly. "Not tonight."

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing one hand quickly over his face. "It's a celebration tonight, I know. I just needed a moment. Shall we rejoin the festivities?"

Nodding, Hermione slipped her hand into his as he pushed away from the wall, and they returned to the castle. They met several Order members preparing to leave on their way back to the Great Hall and spent a few minutes saying brief goodbyes.

Back in the hall, they mingled with the crowd, together at first, then drifting apart as Hermione's former classmates pulled her away from the group of teachers and Ministry officials with whom Severus was deep in conversation.

Word seemed to have spread amongst the newly graduated witches and wizards that she and Severus were now engaged, and Hermione was bombarded with question after question… no one seemed willing to believe the _Daily Prophet_'s account of how they had come to be together.

When she found herself bailed up near the refreshments table by Lavender Brown and the Patil twins, she caught Severus' eye across the hall and gave him a pleading look for help. There was an amused glimmer in his eyes that showed he wasn't planning on rescuing her any time soon, and she was forced to turn her attention back to the other young women. She answered most of their questions, trying not to let her irritation at repeating herself show, but when those questions began to get too personal for Hermione's liking, she looked around again for Severus.

She couldn't see him anywhere, and her temper was almost ready to snap when Lavender asked in a hushed voice, "Is it true he really did follow Voldemort when he was younger?"

Severus suddenly appeared out of the crowd, and Hermione smiled as she nodded towards him and said, "Why don't you ask Severus yourself, Lavender?"

"Miss Patil, Miss Patil, Miss Brown," Severus greeted, politely but suspiciously, obviously having heard his name in the conversation. "Ask me what?"

"Er, I– I– nothing, sir," Lavender stammered, flushing under Severus' dark gaze.

"Good," he said briskly. "Now, if you've finished questioning Hermione, I'd like to have some time with my fiancée, if you please."

He led her away through the crowd, towards the front of the hall again. Hermione hadn't really paid attention to her surroundings while she'd been talking to her former classmates, but she now realised a large number of people were dancing, the older witches and wizards in pairs, the younger ones mostly milling around the edge in groups. Those students who were dancing in pairs laughed as they tried to get their steps right and avoid bumping into the more serious couples.

Severus turned to Hermione, his eyes glimmering. He held out one hand to her, the other tucked behind him back in a formal pose.

"May I have this dance?"

She laughed.

No one else would have understood the significance of such a simple question. Severus raised an eyebrow at her reaction and waited for her to regain her composure. When she did, she accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her into the midst of the dancing couples.

Keeping hold of her hand and putting his other arm about her waist, he held her close. Hermione couldn't help but continue to smile; if anyone had doubts about Severus' intentions before, the sight of the normally private man dancing with her, holding her, allowing her to rest her head against his shoulder, should have put paid to any lingering suspicions that anything might have been amiss.

Hermione hardly noticed the time as they danced. Ron was brave enough to cut in and steal her away from Severus for a dance. Her red-haired friend was rather uncoordinated, and they spent more time laughing than dancing. She danced with Harry, too, as well as a handful of her other classmates, but nothing compared to the contentment of being in Severus' arms.

The night wore on, but Hermione was hardly aware of the time passing until Dean, Neville and Seamus came over to say goodbye before they left. Glancing at the clock for the first time, Hermione was startled to see it was the early hours of the morning.

People began to leave more steadily then, but Hermione wasn't yet ready to go; Ron seemed to have had rather too much to drink, and was trying to coerce her into dancing with him again. She was laughing and trying to get him to sit down; he was stumbling over his own feet, so he was hardly in any shape to be coordinating his feet with hers. Harry and Ginny were sitting nearby, laughing at Hermione and Ron, and then talking with their heads bowed close together.

Across the room, Severus was deep in conversation with someone Hermione didn't recognise. He seemed content, though, so she turned her attention back to her friends.

The crowd thinned further as more witches and wizards left; Hermione didn't doubt she would never again see some of the former classmates she was saying goodbye to and wishing all the best this night… but she would see the ones who mattered most to her; she would make sure of that.

She tried but failed to escape a farewell hug from Lavender, who, like Ron, had drunk more than her share of Butterbeer. The Gryffindor took Hermione's left hand without asking, examining the ring on her finger with an exclamation of delight.

"Oh, Hermione, whoever would have thought you'd be the first of us to be getting married?" she exclaimed, her words slurring slightly as she swayed on her feet and draped one arm around Hermione's shoulders. "You will invite your old housemates, won't you?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw the Patil twins approaching where they stood, and she smiled at Lavender.

"We haven't really talked about a wedding yet," she said. "There's no rush, after all."

Hermione could just imagine Severus' face if he saw _their_ names on a guest list.

She said goodbye to the other Gryffindors without any more awkward questions, and rejoined her friends. Ron had finally sat down, and Hermione lowered herself into the chair next to him, surprising herself by yawning. For the first time that night, she was beginning to feel weary.

No one was dancing anymore; most people were sitting or standing in small groups around the edge of the room, or had moved out into the Entrance Hall in preparation for leaving. When Ron stood up to make for the refreshments table again, Harry and Ginny decided it was time for them all to leave; the three of them were heading back to Grimmauld Place for a few weeks before deciding where to go from there.

Hermione hugged her three friends fiercely, promising she would see them all soon. She walked as far as the Entrance Hall with them after they'd said their goodbyes to the remaining guests and teachers, and stood on the steps, watching them retreat down the path towards the main gates.

She stood there for a few minutes after they'd disappeared beyond the trees lining the path, enjoying the silence and the warm night stirred only by the slightest wisp of a breeze.

Footsteps behind her alerted her to the presence of another, and she recognised it to be Severus even before his arms came around her waist, his chin resting on the top of her head.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Mmm, a little," she murmured, leaning back into him.

"Shall we go inside and say our goodbyes?" he suggested after a while.

Turning in his arms, she looked up at him, his dark eyes almost invisible in the night. She tried and failed to stifle a yawn, and he chuckled softly.

"I'll take that as a yes." He drew away from her. "Come on."

Back inside, saying goodbye to those remaining took little time; most people had already gone. Hermione farewelled all her teachers, thanking them for all their time and guidance over the years, and said brief goodbyes to the few students who remained gathered in a corner of the room. When she found herself standing before Dumbledore, she was suddenly lost for words. There were far too many things she needed to thank the old wizard for and far too few words in which to do so.

After trying and failing to articulate her thanks, she was relieved when Dumbledore grasped one of her hands in both of his.

"There is no need for thanks, my dear," he said earnestly, his eyes alight with happiness. "It has been a joy and an honour to have you as a student at this school, and your presence will be sorely missed by all, of that I'm certain."

"Thank you, sir, I'll miss Hogwarts, too," she said. Hesitating for a moment, she added softly, "Thank you for everything this year, too… without your trust in me, I'd never have… well, things would be different, and I couldn't be happier than I am now."

"Nor could I, my dear," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I wish you all the best, and you will always be welcome here, should you choose to return."

Hermione wandered out into the Entrance Hall again while Severus spoke briefly with Dumbledore. It was a moment between the two men that she didn't want to intrude upon; it wasn't as though they were saying goodbye for good, but they had been friends and colleagues for a long time, and she felt they deserved a private moment to speak alone.

Severus exited the Great Hall after a few minutes; his face was carefully blank, but his lips curled up in a half-smile when he saw her.

Without a word spoken between them, they walked through the main castle doors, down the steps and onto the path. Hermione stopped for a moment and turned, gazing up at the castle, towering over them in the night. The windows of the Great Hall were still bright with the lights from within, but the higher levels of the castle were all dark and silent. The people who had occupied those rooms were gone; they'd left for the summer… or left Hogwarts for good.

"Hermione?"

Severus' soft prompt drew her from her thoughts, and she favoured him with a smile, albeit one tinged with a trace of sadness. Picking up on her thoughts, he put an arm around her shoulders.

"We can always come back to visit," he said.

"I know," she replied. "It strange to be leaving after so long… even strange for you, I'd imagine… but you're right. It's time to go."

They meandered unhurriedly along the path towards the front gates. The light from the castle grew fainter the further they went, the stillness of the June night closing in. It was still a few hours until sunrise, and a faint chill drifted on the light breeze coming up from the lake.

On one side of the path, the forest loomed dark and dense; Hermione could hear the rustling of unseen creatures in amongst the trees. Peering in through the dark boughs, she thought she could see something moving, keeping pace with them as they continued along the path. She glanced back at Severus to see whether he had noticed, but he was looking in the opposite direction, out across the wide expanse of lawns leading down to the Quidditch pitch.

Turning her attention back to the trees, she watched more intently for any sign of movement, her scrutiny made easier now the trees were growing further apart and the faint moonlight filtered down to the forest floor. It was in that light Hermione suddenly caught a glimpse of silvery mane and heard the soft clip of hoof on rock.

She realised the moonfilly was trailing them, not daring to venture beyond the edge of the forest to meet them, but curious as to where her most recent acquaintance and the man whose life her blood had saved were going in the middle of the night. Hermione felt a rush of gratitude towards the hidden creature, followed by a pang of sadness that they might never see her again.

Hermione looked to Severus again, but he was still unaware. Sensing her eyes upon him, though, he glanced down at her and smiled.

She returned his smile, uncertain of whether to say anything or not. The path was beginning to curve away from the forest, and when she glanced back into the trees, there was no sign or sound to indicate the tiny creature had even been there. Sighing softly to herself, she shook her head and walked on.

Finally slipping through the open gates of the school, they halted, both turning for one last look at the castle that had been their home for much of their lives.

"Shall we go?" Severus turned to face her, taking her hands in his own. The tips of his fingers brushed over the ring on her left hand, and she smiled, entwining her fingers through his.

"Yes," she said. "Let's go home."

Tightening his grip on her hands, Severus Apparated them away from Hogwarts.

* * *

_**Finite**_

Author's Note: It's finished! There were times when I wondered whether I'd _ever_ finish this story… it just kept getting longer!

But now it's over. Hermione and Severus didn't exactly ride off into the sunset… life won't be perfect, but it will be good, and who could complain about that?

Those who've mentioned a sequel… I can't see myself writing one at the moment. In this particular 'universe', I've said everything I wanted to say. Time to work on some of the other stories I've had brewing (haha) for a while now. It will be both good and scary to delve into the world of HBP-compliant fic.

I must take a moment to thank a few people, and first and foremost, my beta, webmistress and great friend, Potion Mistress. Without her tireless beta work and constant, gentle (and sometimes not-so-gentle) prodding, I have no doubt this story would have been languishing abandoned in the Archives of Azkaban long ago. Many thanks also to everyone else who has helped me at some stage along the way… Indigofeathers, my walking thesaurus, who is always on IM when I can't think of the right word; Keladry Lupin, who listened to me prattle on about various plot points and never once told me to shut up, and anyone who picked out dodgy typos, especially during the time I stubbornly floundered beta-less for the first twenty-something chapters; emlouise, who came on board very late in the story, but I still have to thank her because discussing this story with someone face-to-face is just weird and awesome and I love it.

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed somewhere along the way. Some of you have been here since the beginning, and I can't tell you how grateful I am that you've stuck with the story and have let me know what you're thinking. I write as a bit of a creative outlet and an escape from the mundaneness of real life work, but I wouldn't be half as motivated without all the comments I've received. Every single one, whether it was a few words or a few paragraphs, has helped make this story better.

Thanks for reading!


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